


i tried to write it down, but i could never find a pen

by KHlove065



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Slow Burn, Step-siblings, Stripping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2020-05-16 22:50:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 106,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19327705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KHlove065/pseuds/KHlove065
Summary: AU: To celebrate his eighteenth birthday, Puck takes Kurt to a gay bar in Columbus. Kurt finds himself embarrassingly entranced by a particular curly haired dancer, and the last thing he expects is for him to be the son of his Dad's new girl friend.





	1. Dancing on the Edge

“Ease up Hummel, Jesus Christ,” Puck grunts, shoving Kurt’s shoulder roughly. Kurt winces, gulping around a nervous breath. He’s trying- trying to relax and let himself go, to enjoy what’s in front of him, but it just really isn’t his thing.

Not that he can actually know for sure it isn’t his thing, he thinks. He’s never been anywhere like this before, never done something so forward and exposing and he feels vulnerable, overwhelmed with the public display of lust around him, tangible desire and passion flaunted by people like him, for him.

“Look, I’m not here for me,” Puck yells over the loud music. “Call it an act of charity or whatever, but I’m doing this for you, porcelain. If you don’t stop looking like a deer caught in fucking headlights and enjoy yourself, then we’ll just go.”

Kurt rolls his eyes at him. The thrusts of Puck’s hips, perfectly in time to the music, give him away, leaving his threats empty and hollow. Puck’s there for himself just as much as he is for Kurt, if not for the guys than for the drinks and the sex energized atmosphere.

And, well, Kurt honestly wouldn’t be surprised if Puck were there for the guys, too.

The club around him is dark and dingy, neon lights bouncing off the walls at awkward and invasive angles and a harsh beat pulsing through the floor. A thin hazy smoke dances through the air, making it difficult to see clearly and increasing the heat that consumes the small space, emanated by too many sweaty bodies.

He understands how it would be easy to let go here. The ambiance is magnetic, frantic and fast-paced and demanding, created to pull him, to make him detach from his thoughts and surrender to the spontaneous, to the carefree random creation of every impulse, every craving, every need.

It’s intimidating. He feels unprotected, raw almost, his nerves and fears and also his desires, his secret yearnings, all live wires exposed and running hot down his skin, sparking and humming with energy and fear, and what he won’t quite admit, excitement.

“You only turn eighteen once, man,” Puck told him earlier that day, a hasty and completely insufficient explanation (in true Puck fashion), but the only type that could be offered in the crowded hallway before Kurt had to scurry off to his next class. Before Kurt knew it, he was in the passenger seat of Puck’s car, cruising towards some gay bar in Columbus, the sound of wind and blood alike rushing through his ears and a half-assed fake i.d. in his pocket.

The scene in front of him is a bizarre mix between some sort of fantasy he’s never out rightly acknowledged, something he’s never indulged in because it felt embarrassing, something he secretly and innately hungers for, and something so obscenely erotic and crude, miles from the blushing gentle romance he also yearns for. It feels too fast, too urgent, too dirty, to be something that he actually enjoys, despite the way his body betrays him, a thin buzz of arousal humming under his skin and drops of sweat beading at his hairline.

“See anyone you like yet?” Puck shouts. Kurt allows his eyes to nervously scan around the room and observe for the first time since he arrived.

The guys around him are attractive, there’s no doubt. It’s just that every flirtatious smile shown his way, every move of hips and flash of dazzling eyes makes Kurt acutely aware of how inexperienced he is, how young and innocent he is, how much he hopes he doesn’t find a budding romance in such a tacky place as this. It just doesn’t suit him, even with the spiraling ball of intrigue growing deep in his chest, trying to claw and tear it’s way out.

“Not really,” he yells back, the tension obvious in his voice. Puck sighs heavily but slows his movements and pulls Kurt to the side, his eyes softening slightly.

“Look dude, I get it. It’s not everyone’s thing,” he says, his normal annoyed tone replaced by the subtle but detectable kindness his voice only carries when he’s addressing Kurt, the kindness that appeared when he became Kurt’s friend at the beginning of sophomore year and decided that, for whatever reason, it was his mission to protect him. Kurt’s shoulders sag in relief but also embarrassment. He feels like the only teenage boy in the entire world who would prefer romance to lust.

He almost laughs at his stupidity and naivety. He has no experience with romance either. What does he have to compare or prefer?

“I’m sorry, Puck-” he starts, but Puck cuts him off, waving his hand dismissively.

“Don’t worry about it, Hummel. We’ll go now. You ready?” the husky edges of his voice are smoothed by a calming gentleness and Kurt nods, grateful for his patience.

The pair make their way towards the exit as the music carries on loudly around them. Kurt keeps his gaze mostly on the floor, studying how the blaring neon lights reflect off his designer boots. It’s hot, too hot, stuffy and thick and he’s desperate for fresh air, for the cooling breeze of the open night sky.

Suddenly the music switches, a raunchy low bass line slithering it’s way into the room, followed by a fervent electric beat and there’s a ripple of cheering and screaming across the dance floor. Kurt can’t help but look up, turning around to seek out the source of the commotion. Puck mimics his motions next to him.

Lights illuminate a small stage in the corner of the room that Kurt had no idea was there, having been too flustered to notice it before. There’s an explosion of golden shimmering confetti as six male dancers abruptly appear on the stage. Kurt’s mouth goes dry.

He doesn’t know where to look first. The beat is a mix, a steady push and pull of fast and slow and the dancers are glorious, flexible and sensual as they wind their bodies around the music, hitting every beat with ease.

The costumes and size of the dancers vary; the dancer on the far right is a large burly man, muscled and toned, wearing nothing but a cowboy hat and some extremely small jean shorts with some form of a leather harness strapped around his hairy chest. Kurt’s eyes scan quickly across the stage, past a lanky tall blonde dressed as an angel, a man in a tight black latex suit that he guesses is supposed to resemble a cat, and he doesn’t quite comprehend the rest because his gaze falls and sticks on the dancer at the left side of the stage closest to him.

Kurt feels his draw drop open. He’s nothing less than entranced.

He’s an average sized guy, not as tall and lanky as the others, but rather his body is compact, strong sculpted muscles in his thighs and bulging calves. His skin is a lovely olive tone, spread out over a broad chest and well built arms. Dark thick unruly, yet neatly trimmed black curls sit atop his head. He has plump rosy pink lips, the color of which match his nipples (Kurt blushes violently as the thought flutters across his brain). His amber eyes are accentuated by dark eyeliner and they burn so bright Kurt can see them, feel them, from the back of the room.

His outfit is by far the most risque of the whole group. He’s practically wearing nothing. A sparkly dark blue thong barely covers what’s almost peeking out in the front (and from what Kurt can tell, this boy is… well endowed), and leaves nothing to the imagination in the back. With a smooth roll of his hips, the boy turns, squatting, and the thong rides up his ridiculously round and perky ass cheeks (God, Kurt’s blush deepens dramatically, bordering an embarrassing crimson shade), revealing everything to the crowd. He has matching dark blue lace up boots that ascend to his knees, and nothing else. Nothing but miles of tan smooth skin.

“Hell yeah, Hummel!” Puck cheers next to him and Kurt jumps slightly at his voice, pulled momentarily out of his trance. “Blue one got your panties in a twist, huh?” He smirks, and Kurt slaps him.

“Shut up,” he mumbles and almost against his will, his eyes are drawn back to the dancer. Puck claps along to the music, cups his mouth as he hollers and cheers and none of it matters, no other sounds register to Kurt because he can’t take his eyes off the boy.

His body is like silk, soft and pliant as it rolls, so beautifully contrasted by it’s rigid lines, the hard planes of his stomach and hip bones, shaped arms and chiseled jaw. He melds to the music, effortlessly and graceful, controlled even though his movements are wild, sinful. His hands roam over his body expressively, his hips thrusting and legs spreading and suddenly his hands are in the air and he’s shaking his ass hard, back and forth, cheeks clapping and goddammit, Kurt cannot breathe.

“I’m just… gonna…” Kurt mutters, motioning towards the stage and Puck all but shoves him towards it, grinning wildly, a mischievous and proud glint in his eye. Kurt shoots him his best bitch glare over his shoulder.

He stumbles forward, weeding through the crowd without the faintest idea of what’s driving him forwards because his knees are weak and his legs feel like jelly and this still really isn’t his thing, until somehow, he reaches the front of the crowd. He’s right at the bottom of the stage, gazing up at the boy and he’s so much closer now that Kurt feels a thrill shoot up his body, the hair on his arms stands on end and a faint throb begins to build between his legs.

The boy catches his eye, looks straight at Kurt as he begins another seductive rhythm with his hips, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth, and Kurt flushes, turns violently red because, God, he must look ridiculous, mesmerized and gaping.

He can’t help it. The boy is captivating in the dirtiest of ways and it’s absolutely invigorating, lighting a spark somewhere deep within Kurt that makes his blood feel hot and his body tingle.

The boy drops to his knees and begins crawling slowly towards the edge of the stage. He’s popular, if the amount of drooling, horny boys around Kurt who are also enraptured by his performance are any indicator. His eyes are still glued on Kurt’s, staring hotly, fiercely into Kurt’s own, the amber irises brighter and more scorching than the sun.

Kurt thinks it’s probably pretty naive to believe the boy is actually staring at just Kurt, or thinking anything about Kurt. This is his job. He’s feeding off the crowd, feeding off of Kurt and the energy of raw desire he’s so blatantly offering.

Yet his eyes never leave Kurt’s as he comes closer and closer and the room begins to feel dizzy around Kurt. He can practically feel the heat radiating off the boy’s body and the aroma of cologne and sweat and sex dripping off his skin is so strong it forces it’s way into Kurt’s nostrils, wraps around his sinuses and clouds his brain, trickling down into his lungs and seizing his chest, stopping his heart.

He stops at the edge of the stage, his face inches from Kurt’s and Kurt stops breathing, stops thinking, halts everything as the world ceases to spin on its axis and the only things Kurt knows anymore are hazel eyes and long delicate eyelashes fanning over soft cheeks.

The tension in the space between them is thick, impenetrable and sharp and blazing as the boy gazes into what feels like Kurt’s soul, reducing him to a trembling mess. The boy opens his mouth and oh, oh, Kurt realizes he’s probably supposed to drop money into his mouth, except he doesn’t have any cash on him and something about the boy’s eyes tell Kurt he’s not exactly crouched this close to Kurt for the money and he just wants to reach out and touch him and-

The moment snaps, the tension shattered, springing apart as a boy next to Kurt places a twenty dollar bill in the boy’s mouth and Kurt looks away, flushing and sweaty, staring anywhere other than the boy.

He turns around, staggering and tripping through the crowd as he pushes his way towards the exit. When he looks back, the boy is back on his feet, dancing fiercely to the music, eyes trained on somebody else, someone new that he’s luring and seducing.

He’s so stupid, so stupid to believe even for an infinitesimal moment that the boy thought anything of him. The energy, the desire, was completely one sided because the boy is a stripper for God’s sake and this wasn’t a place for romance.

Besides, it’s not like anyone has ever found Kurt attractive before.

Kurt would find nothing here, nothing but instant gratification that would leave him feeling empty and hollow, filled only with shameful arousal and humiliation. 

He thinks, hopes, believes he deserves more than that.

He finds Puck at the bar and barely suppresses a whine when he realizes he’ll most likely be the one driving home. He tugs on his arm urgently and pleads,

“Let’s go. Now.”

…..

It’s nearly one in the morning by the time they arrive at Kurt’s house. Puck’s sober enough by then to drive the rest of the way to his own house, so Kurt gives him a hurried goodbye and slips quietly up the dark driveway and into his house.

The downstairs is pitch black, the only light coming from the clock on the microwave and the cable box next to the TV.

He flips on the lamp by the couch to find a glass of water and a slice of the zucchini bread he had made the other day on the table, left out for him by his Dad. The kind gesture makes him want to cry, and the guilt he feels over lying about going to a party at Rachel’s house multiplies, especially after the events of the night.

He eats the snack quietly. The darkness and silence of his house leaves the loud phantom pulse of the club echoing in his ears, throbbing in his skull, vibrating down his skin.

He switches off the lights and descends the stairs quietly to the basement. He completes his nightly skin care routine, tries to read some of his book, thumbs through his magazines, even listens to his favorite show tunes to calm himself down, but he still isn’t tired.

With his mind racing a hundred miles a minute, he strips down, folding his clothes and underwear neatly before placing them on his chair. Climbing under his soft covers, he does the only thing he can think of to go to sleep, the only thing he’s wanted, needed, to do the whole night.

He spreads his body out, long and loose across the bed and slithers his hand down, fondling his balls and tugging lightly at the chestnut curls of his pubic hair before taking his thick length in hand, not even a little surprised to find it half hard as he begins languidly stroking himself.

He closes his eyes and lulls his head back as the warm pleasure rises through his body, a tight sharp heat already coiling low in his stomach. The dark backs of his eyelids create an empty canvas, a canvas that is suddenly painted, coated and decorated vividly with the boy.

Kurt imagines himself tugging that blue thong down, the boy’s thick, long, leaking cock springing free, purple and swollen and so hard, wanting and needing and all for Kurt. He strokes himself faster and faster as he imagines the boy pinning him up against the wall, nuzzling and sucking down the milky skin of his throat and suddenly it’s the boy’s hand, stroking the velvety skin of Kurt’s cock in slow but firm strokes, bringing him closer and closer to release.

Kurt’s hips rise off the bed, bucking up into his hand, and he’s moaning quietly, whimpering and gasping. When he tweaks one his nipples hard with his hand, he imagines the boy, latching his delectable lips onto his nipple and grazing the nub with his teeth, the hot white sparks of pleasure cascading down Kurt’s back and stomach toward his groin.

The boy falls to his knees, stares up at Kurt under those devilish eyelashes with innocent but knowing wide eyes and takes just the tip of Kurt’s cock into the warm, wet heat of his mouth and it’s not enough but too much all at once, just what Kurt needs to tip him over the edge, to send him plummeting face first into his orgasm, muffling his scream with his hand and spilling, wet and hot all over his fist.

He rides out the overwhelming pleasure, his body clenching as white bright lights appear behind his eyes, toes curling and back arching. Then his chest unfreezes from it’s tight hold and he’s panting, gasping and heaving as he comes down from his high.

He sinks into the bed, his limbs numb and loose. He feels wrecked, completely sated, too tired and drowsy to even decipher the small shards of shame and embarrassment that puncture him deep down, how dirty and wrong he feels.

Sleep overtakes him quickly, the world fading out in hues of olive skin, black curls, lush pink lips, and fiery amber eyes.

….

The Hummel household has seen the same routine every Saturday morning for years. Burt Hummel always rises before the sun, getting up to shower and go for a long walk.

By the time he returns, Kurt, who is much less of a morning person, is awake and cooking them breakfast, usually something much too organic for his Dad’s liking, but necessary for his health.

Kurt grabs the eggs from the fridge and shuffles over to the stove, plucking an orange from the fruit basket on his way. Bending down, he retrieves a small bowl from the bottom cabinets and fills it with water.

He yawns loudly as he beats the eggs in the bowl.

He tries not to think too much about the night before. It was a mistake, merely just an experiment that failed, he reasons. There was nothing beneficial for him at that club, and he certainly would have preferred a slumber party with his girlfriends at Rachel’s house, except-

Except.

Except he can’t stop thinking about the boy, the one in the skimpy blue thong, and God it’s exactly that, the thong, that reminds Kurt of the foremost problem with this whole mess.

He’s a stripper, an erotic lubricious dancer, and nothing, nothing in young Kurt Hummel’s dreams of his prince charming, his knight in shining armor, ever included a stripper.

He knows he’s being ridiculous, it’s not like he will ever see that boy again or go back to that club. 

But Kurt doesn’t touch himself often, and the night before unleashed something feral. It unwrapped and dusted off a part of him he didn’t even know existed, something oozing in wishes and untouched cravings, revealing a deficiency in some unnameable need that he wasn’t even aware was lacking.

“Morning kiddo,” Burt’s voice booms from behind him and Kurt startles.

“Morning old man,” He replies, masking his restlessness with a too bright smile and a hasty peck to his dad’s cheek. He quickly turns back to the bowl, hoping to hide his rising blush. There’s a beat, then a pause, before Burt speaks;

“You have fun at Rachel’s house last night?” he asks gruffly. Kurt doesn’t dare turn around now. He can sense his dad’s skepticism. One look into his eyes and Kurt would involuntarily spill all the thoughts fluttering around his head, the thoughts on the tip of his tongue.

“Yeah, it was great!” he exclaims a little too cheerily and he practically rolls his eyes, mentally kicking himself.

“What time did you get in?” Burt pushes further, his questions continuing and Kurt stirs faster, focuses harder on the food in front of him. At least he can answer this question honestly.

“Around one,” he answers, grateful that his voice is somewhat calmer. “Thank you for what you left out,” he tells him sincerely.

Burt gives a hum in acknowledgment as Kurt keeps stirring. Just when Kurt thinks he’s about to drop it, Burt speaks again.

“Hey put that down for a sec, I wanna talk to you.” 

The tender undertone to his voice is the only thing that gives Kurt the incentive to slowly turn around and face his father. When he finally meets his eyes, Burt looks… nervous.

“You know I’ve been dating…” he swallows and trails off, and Kurt stands for a moment in shock. It’s unusual for Kurt to see his Dad so flustered and also this is so, so not the conversation he was expecting. His shoulders slump minutely with relief as the focus shifts off of him.

“Pam?” Kurt supplies and his Dad nods.

“Yeah, Pam,” he smiles softly, and Kurt’s heart swells and drops at the same time. He’s happy for his dad but he desperately hopes this isn’t going where he thinks it is. He just hasn’t prepared himself for that yet.

“You’ve met her,” he speaks tentatively.

“I have,” Kurt confirms, biting back a grin at his Dad’s awkwardness. Burt pauses, unsure of how to go on and Kurt doesn’t think he can prolong the obvious for another second.

“What is it, Dad?” He asks, cocking his head. “Just tell me.” 

“What do you think of her?” he wonders earnestly. Kurt closes his eyes and swallows. He is so not ready for this to happen.

“She’s nice Dad, she really is,” He answers honestly and stops, pulling his lip between his teeth.

“But?” Burt encourages.

“I just, I-I don’t know her well enough yet for you to marry her, Dad. I’m happy you like her, I truly am, I just need to know her better-”

“Whoa, whoa, Kurt!” Burt laughs, waving his hands and Kurt’s mouth snaps shut. “Who said anything about getting married?” He chuckles.

Kurt gives a shy, embarrassed smile. “Thank God,” he mutters.

“You’re right, kid,” Burt nods. “Your opinion in this is just as important to me as my own. I do want you to get to know her better. So I’ve invited her over for dinner again,” he reveals and Kurt can’t help but smile excitedly.

“That’s great, Dad! I can cook again and-”

“And her son,” Burt adds and Kurt stops.

“Oh?” he raises an eyebrow.

“She has a son,” he says slowly, nodding. “Little older than you, probably in his early twenties? I want you to meet him in case… you know… things do get more serious, in case someday we are a family,” he finishes.

Kurt’s at a loss for words. He liked Pam when he met her before. She was kind and loving and certainly more genuine in her attempt to befriend Kurt than some of his Dad’s previous girlfriends.

He hasn’t come to terms yet, hasn’t had the time, or the energy, or the determination to sit down and allow himself to redefine what family would mean to him. Even without a son, the prospect of a new mother felt like sandpaper in his hands, something he could hold and accept if need be but it wasn’t exactly comforting.

But a son, a son had never crossed Kurt’s mind. Siblings, another son to his Dad, these were all foreign ideas, life altering and pivoting entities that couldn’t be thrown hastily at him. He had to have time to mull them over, let them sit and adjust in his heart, in his mind.

“Okay,” is all he can manage.

“Okay?” Burt echoes, lowering his head to catch Kurt’s eye and coax a more elaborate answer out of him.

“Look, Dad… I’ll try, okay? I can’t promise anything. I can’t promise I’ll like him, or that it won’t take me some time to adjust to the idea of a new family...” His voice falters as the tears begin to pool in his eyes. Burt walks forward and envelops him in his strong arms.

“You and me, kid, we will always be each other’s family,” he pulls back to look Kurt in the eye. “Nothing and nobody is going to change that, I promise you. Okay?” He wipes at a tear falling down Kurt’s cheek and the action is so nostalgic and endearing that it makes Kurt yearn to be a young boy again, to hide from the pain and horror of the world behind his Dad’s heroic and selfless shoulder.

“I can’t promise I won’t judge him immediately based off his outfit,” Kurt only half jokes and Burt laughs loudly, pulling Kurt back into his arms.

“I’m not asking for miracles here, Kurt,” he replies simply. Kurt clings to him, inhales his comforting scent.

“When should I expect this dinner? I’m assuming you’ll want my fabulous cooking again,” he teases.

“Monday night,” Burt says, releasing Kurt to grab the orange by the stove.

“Oh, Dad… I have a rehearsal for Glee club Monday night,” Kurt remembers. Burt raises his eyebrows at him expectantly and Kurt continues, probably a little too dramatically for his own good. 

“I can’t miss it Dad, it’s mandatory. Regionals will be here soon and we are far from ready,” he emphasizes his point with a wave of his hand, hoping his Dad will acquiesce.

“Just come home as soon as your done, okay?” he sighs and Kurt nods. “I love you, Kurt,” he adds. Kurt sucks in a breath.

“Love you, too,” he reciprocates, plastering a smile on his lips and forcing the burning feeling behind his eyes to go away.

He’ll make it fine, because it has to be fine, for him, for his Dad, for everyone.

He vows to himself to shove the thoughts, the wishes, the urge for the blue thonged boy deep down and lock it away, burying it under layers of protection and defenses and reality, practicality, deep in the soil of his lonely soul. He has to focus on what’s at hand here. There’s no time to sort out, to discover or feed or fuel whatever happened to him that day. He has to be level headed and sensible.

And it is fine.

It’s fine all throughout the weekend. He and his Dad carry on as normal and he only thinks of the boy, of his sinful hips and pert ass, his jet black curls and lush lips, in the darkest hours of night, alone, where it isn’t dangerous, where he can afford to open that desperate, red-hot box festering in the back of his mind.

It’s fine even on Monday, when Mr. Schuester keeps them all late at practice for some anal, meticulous detail. It’s less time, less time he has to entertain strangers, less time he has to force himself to keep an open mind with Pam.

Less time he has to spend with her mysterious and enigmatic son.

It’s fine.

It’s all fine until he arrives home, opening the front door as quietly as possible in an effort to minimize a dramatic entrance or any attention that might be placed upon him. It’s all fine until he walks bravely into the dining room.

The table sits three people. His father, who looks elated and enchanted by the lively woman sitting next to him, Pam, who is laughing loudly, her eyes twinkling in the light, and her son, who sits opposite them both.

Kurt comes to a complete halt. It’s like slamming into a brick wall.

It doesn’t even take his brain a full second to recognize him. He’s dressed in black jeans and a button up plaid shirt, but his sparkling hazel eyes betray him instantly.

There, sitting at his dining table, laughing joyously with his father, is the face that’s been hidden in the back of Kurt’s mind, the eyes that have been burned into his memory, into his racing heart and pulse, the body that he’s been secretly devouring, hungering for, craving deep in the shadowed, sheltered parts of his being.

There, sitting at his dining table, is the boy with the blue thong.

“Kurt!” Pam greets warmly, rising out of her chair to pull a completely stiff Kurt into her arms. “It’s lovely to see you again! I’d like to introduce you to my son, Blaine,” she gestures over to the boy.

A pair of flaming, honey colored eyes look up and lock with Kurt’s and a shiver snakes it’s way down Kurt’s body, from the roots of his hair down to the tips of his toes.

The climate around them is drastically different. There’s no hammering beat or booming music, it’s not dimly lit with shades of reflected purple or blue, smooth as liquid glowing off their skin, there’s no scent of sex, of sweat and latex and alcohol. The boy isn’t half naked, his satiny olive skin rolling and twisting, delectable and appetizing.

But the tension between them is just as thick, razor sharp and heavy and all Kurt can do is hope, pray, plead, beg, that the boy doesn’t recognize him, too.

Blaine.

Fuck.


	2. Blue Eyed Angel

Despite being twenty-two years old, Blaine Anderson has very few things that he can actually count on to be consistent in his life.

The main thing being his Mom’s incredible talent to date the utmost douche bags in all of Ohio. 

A close behind second being his Dad’s absence in his life since he came out at fifteen.

Other than those two things, Blaine’s life is a frantic fast-paced disaster of inconsistencies and disappointments, a ripped and tattered map that he has no fucking idea how to piece together and navigate.

“Burt wants to meet you,” his mother says to him one Sunday afternoon as he’s flipping through channels on the TV, eyeing the clock carefully to make certain he’s not late to work. Again.

“Burt?” he questions absentmindedly, not bothering to use the minimal amount of mental energy to figure out who she’s referring to.

“The guy I’ve been seeing,” she sighs pointedly and that catches Blaine’s attention. He snorts loudly.

“He wants to meet me?” he chuckles. He’s been through this vicious cycle too many draining times to believe that’s the simple truth of the situation. No guy wants to meet the screw up son of the woman he’s dating, the one who still pathetically lives with her.

“He invited us both to his house for dinner, Tomorrow night,” she explains, placing something in the microwave and sounding an electronic rhythm as she hits the buttons.

“What’d you have to do to get him to agree to that?” Blaine can’t keep the bitterness from seeping through his words, sharp and sour. “Suck his dick?” he says lewdly and his mother slams her fist on the counter.

“Can you control yourself for ten seconds?” she hisses, and Blaine winces at the exhaustion and frustration in her voice.

He’s well aware he shouldn’t treat his mother this way, and he despises the part of him that’s so quick to react, to fight, to be vulgar and insensitive. It’s not the person he truly is, but it’s who he’s quickly becoming, a massive and unstoppable beast consuming him slowly.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” he apologizes, rubbing tiredly at his face. He turns the TV off and shuffles over to the kitchen, settling back against the island. His Mom stays silent as she stirs her food.

“I just don’t want a repeat of Dave,” he says quietly and Pam looks at him, tears pooling in her eyes.

“Not everybody is like Dave, Blaine,” her tone is clipped and accusing and Blaine wants to scream, to tear his hair out and throw something because that’s the exact goddamn point he was trying to make for months while his mother suffered the abuse and agony of her relationship with Dave. Blaine begged and pleaded for his Mother to end it, to acknowledge that she was being mistreated, but she refused to listen, lost in an unforgiving shelter of denial and shame. 

Now she speaks to him as if he were the ignorant one, as if it were him who allowed Dave to come into their home and tear their already shattered family further apart.

“But it hasn’t just been Dave, Mom,” he recites brokenly, for the thousandth time. “It was Tim, and John, and Paul, and Lewis,” he lists, his voice rising and he’s not even meaning to get upset, but he’s so sick and tired of having this conversation over and over again, of fighting and screaming and always landing back in square one.

“I don’t want to hear this Blaine,” she shakes her head, the tears pooling over and running down her cheeks. “Burt’s not like them.”

“And how am I supposed to fucking know that? You don’t have the best track record, Mom,” he yells, and he feels like he’s always yelling, always battling to be heard and understood because his Mom just recoils, backs away and shrinks when things get uncomfortable and he doesn’t know how much longer he can stand it.

His Mom turns away from him, busying herself by washing something in the sink, reverting to cower behind her impenetrable walls.

“Dinner. Monday night,” she says around a sniffle, her voice eerily calm, earning a heavy and defeated sigh from Blaine.

He’ll have to take work off tomorrow night-

Shit. Work.

He glances over at the clock, groaning. Even if he leaves now, he'll be a couple minutes late, something he can’t afford at this point.

“I have to go,” he declares suddenly, already bracing himself for the words that are sure to follow him as he walks out the door.

“I hate this job, Blaine,” his mother exhales, following him as he weaves through the laundry room to grab his keys. “When will you quit? Why don’t you go back to school? Do something you actually enjoy again? Play music?”

The stream of questions are endless, knives hitting his back as he walks out the door, cutting him open and making him bleed, raw and scarred and wounded.

They’re the same questions floating around in his head, at the forefront of his mind, tormenting him, enticing and appealing and just out of his grasp, unattainable from the miserable, desolate position his soul is stuck in.

“See you later, Mom,” he calls as he slides into the front seat of his truck, feeling like the world’s biggest hypocrite because no one’s walls are more defensive and untraversable than his own.

…..

He parks his truck in his usual spot, the very back corner of the dark, cramped, inconveniently shaped parking lot.

The nighttime air is cool, just on the cusp of crisp and chilling. A large neon sign paints the asphalt in a fluorescent pink shade, highlighting the severed cracks in the road and the layer of dew that coats the earth.

The beat of the music is muted and distant but distinguishable, thrumming and vibrating and suddenly bursting out of it’s hold, slamming into Blaine’s face as soon as he cracks open the back entrance to the club.

He tries to slip in unnoticed, but Marcus is there waiting.

“You’re late,” he snarls and Blaine resists rolling his eyes.

“I’m aware,” he retorts, trying to push past him because really, this is only going to make him more behind schedule than he already is.

“One more time, Blaine,” he spits, grabbing Blaine’s arm roughly and spinning him around to face him. “One more time and you’re done,” his face is sweaty and flushed red and he’s entirely too close for Blaine’s comfort, his grasp unrelenting and bruising.

“You can’t fire me,” Blaine says with an amused scoff. “I’m the crowd favorite.”

Marcus tightens his brawny fingers around Blaine’s arm and pulls him closer, his hot breath ghosting across Blaine’s face, reeking of alcohol.

“You’re only the crowd favorite because you’re sluttier than the rest of the boys out there,” his voice is low and threatening. “There’s a million boys who can wear a thong and dance better than you can, Blaine. Don’t you think for a second you’re irreplaceable,” he releases Blaine with a harsh shove and walks away.

Blaine bites his tongue, resisting the urge to throw a snarky comment back. He knows better than to run his mouth when Marcus is like this. He soothes the throbbing ache in his arm and forces the tears pricking behind his eyes to subside.

He has no right to get emotional. Marcus only told him the truth he already knows.

He walks toward his joke of a dressing room, an old janitorial closet re purposed for Blaine’s use by the addition of a mirror and sheer black curtain that does little to provide him privacy as he changes. It used to bother him when he first started working, when he was still adjusting to the daunting susceptibility and defenselessness the job demanded from him. Back when he still valued the worth and sacredness of his own body.

Now, he changes quickly and carelessly, stripping down and stepping into the thong, pulling it up and slapping it against his hips. He laces his boots and then he’s standing, assessing himself in the mirror and applying his eyeliner, never staring for too long because sometimes the fiery irises of his concrete eyes rupture, leaving the lost and despairing boy underneath to gaze back at him in a fractured image.

He puts on a thin layer of lipstick, smoothing and rubbing his lips together by force of habit because he’s always seen girls do that, though he’s not actually certain it makes any difference.

The air is hazy and tainting against Blaine’s skin as he walks through the narrow, tiny hallway that leads from his dressing room towards the stage.

“Fuck, you look good enough to eat today, Anderson,” Joe calls, flicking his blonde bangs out of his eyes and adjusting his angel wings.

“Tell that to someone who gives a shit,” Blaine calls back, flipping him off as he continues down the hall, deciding he has enough time before he goes on stage to pay Leo a quick visit.

He has no interest in Joe’s advances, or any of his coworker’s offers for random hookups. He’s lowered himself to such despicable standards, but it seems like the last straw holding the floodgates closed, keeping his internal dam of morality from collapsing and he can’t bear to do that to himself, to lose the last inkling of dignity he has left. Some part of himself still tries to uphold the valiant image his wide eyed fifteen year old self dreamed about becoming.

“You look like shit,” Leo muses, pouring a drink as Blaine approaches the bar. Blaine pulls out a stool and swings his leg over, hissing as the cool leather chills his bare thighs.

“You’re about as gentle as a jackhammer,” Blaine grins in response. 

Leo is the only person he actually enjoys seeing here, the only person who’s ever shown even the slightest fragment of genuine concern for Blaine’s well being. He’s a short, plump, Italian man with a mustache and curly black hair, similar to Blaine’s. Some small, muffled part of Blaine’s brain figures he probably likes him because he reminds Blaine of his own father, but he always ignores that thought when it surfaces, smothers and stifles it and buries it under the pretense that he’s forced himself to believe and accept, the one that falsely states that that specific gaping hole in his heart is filled.

Leo grins back at him, handing a drink off to some stranger. “Rough day?” he asks, and it’s there, that gentle tender undertone of concern that makes Blaine want to close his eyes and cry, break down and rid himself of all impurity.

“Oh, you know, just the usual,” he says instead, sarcasm and humor and bitterness all rolled up and laced into his voice. “Fight with Mom. Grilling from Marcus. Cat call from Joe,” he lists, sighing dramatically.

Leo raises his eyebrows humorously as he washes a glass. “Sounds like you could use a drink,” he offers. Blaine glances at the stage, and then at the clock on the wall behind Leo’s head.

“Maybe after,” he decides reluctantly, because a drink truly does sound fantastic but he’s already pushing his luck with time. “Can’t get too sloppy up there,” he mutters, rising from the bar stool.

“Hang in there kid,” Leo says as Blaine turns to leave. “These days won’t last forever,” he reminds him, and despite everything, Blaine feels the corners of his mouth curve into a slight smile. It’s the closest he gets to feeling hopeful these days, but it’s real and palpable and he clings to it, tight and forceful.

“Anderson, get your worthless ass backstage right now,” Marcus’s voice booms and it’s gone, a sliver of light slipping behind the horizon.

“Just another wonderful day in the life of Blaine fucking Anderson,” Blaine quips. Leo gives him a humorous chuckle and a remorseful shake of his head, and with a wave, Blaine is off, sauntering down the hall.

Blaine only processes what happens while he dances moment by moment. After it’s over it just melts, fuses and collides into a blur of adrenaline and he can never remember the specifics.

His mind and senses are overwhelmed, rewired and overloaded with golden confetti and bright lights, pounding music coursing through his bones, molding and twisting his muscles and he lets go, detaches and forgets and just moves.

The air around him is hot, reaching hands and lustful gaping eyes, cheering calls that encourage him in the most humiliating of ways.

He drags his hands across his overheated skin, spreads his body out and uncovers his most intimate parts, tears them open and presents them, decorating and displaying himself for more than he knows he’s worth.

He rolls and shakes, fueled by the beat that integrates itself inside his veins, the mechanism behind every action, every movement. It’s mind numbing and exhilarating all at once and he taps into the collective energy of the people below him, the faces becoming one giant ocean of desire.

He separates himself from who he is and morphs into who they want him to be, into whatever the crowd demands from him, locking all the thoughts and wishes and experiences that build the foundation for the person he is far away. All that remains is a shell, a body that can be stuffed and filled with whatever each individual observer needs. 

Tonight, however, he has a goal in place, a mission he needs to fulfill. 

He scans the crowd, looks into every pair of eyes, searching and seeking for distinct electric blue, for crystal clear azure.

In the past he gave himself a rule: never linger on any face for too long. Never pour too much attention to any one individual.

Every member of the audience is relatively the same, all clouded and diluted with lust, buzzing with instantaneous satisfaction and when they look at Blaine, he knows they don’t really see him. They experience his performance not by what they see but by how they feel. Blaine’s body and movements are just there to provide a place for that energy to exist, a tangible projection of their arousal.

Two nights ago, the clear blue eyes had stuck out, sharp and bright and positively sparking. They were innocent, interested and open, not crowded with lust but reflective, and they had caught Blaine, snared him into their trap and pulled him so hard his knees felt weak. 

The boy was gorgeous, sharp and defined in his features, creamy smooth pale skin and raised cheekbones, a delicate slim nose and soft thin lips. His hair was perfect, chestnut brown and not a strand out of place. He looked angelic, completely and utterly elevated above anyone else there, positively stunning in his gentle yet determined presence, unknowingly powerful and commanding in his timid movements.

He was different, gazing and seeking with his eyes in a way Blaine immediately recognized was unlike anyone else. He was watching Blaine to watch Blaine and as soon as Blaine latched on to him, clung to his presence and gazed back into his eyes, equally seeking, an energy formed between them, charged and voltaic, expanding and swelling, so powerful and forceful it brought Blaine to his knees, crawling towards the edge of the stage in an attempt to seek out and taste more of the deliciousness between them.

He remembered him after, once the adrenaline and thrill of the stage had worn off, in the quiet hushed darkness of his truck he remembered every specific moment and detail of their interaction. The boy had grounded him, pulled him out of his trance by unapologetically contemplating Blaine as a person rather than a means to suffice a self serving need.

He was striking and gorgeous and Blaine wanted more. To see him, to meet him, to touch him. Desperately.

And so he studies the audience intently, hunting and exploring just as he did last night, just as he will do every night until he finds those eyes again, reflective as a lake, bright and brilliant as raging stars.

….

To his Mom’s credit, Burt is nothing like the rest of them.

Much to Blaine’s surprise, he actually finds himself enjoying the dinner. Burt is kind, firm and loving and genuine in everything he does, respectable and respectful and so down to earth it makes Blaine a little nervous. Blaine can tell he’s the type of guy who would put his family before anything, who would protect his son at all costs but also never intentionally harm anyone. He’s loved by the community, friendly and open to everyone who passes by and Blaine deduces all this just by the way he’s talking, by the way he carries himself and the heartwarming atmosphere of his home.

His Mom lights up the room in a way she hasn’t in years. She’s confident, authentic and bold and even a little flirtatious. Blaine’s shocked at first, completely taken aback because it feels like he warped back in time, like small details of his past are reappearing where they shouldn’t fit, where he doesn’t think they will fit, but they are, molded over and smoothed and welded back into his life and he feels happy, like this could be a possibility for them again, like he could be himself again.

He gives in to the contagious energy of the two people he’s sitting with and laughs, enjoys the evening and the effortless flow of the conversation because Burt is incredibly funny and his Mom works so smoothly with him.

When Burt gets up to grab something from the kitchen, his mom shoots him a loving smile and Blaine feels the blush rise on his cheeks. He studies the table cloth as he avoids her eyes. He hates getting sentimental and mushy but he knows she’s thinking the same thing, that it’s been so long since she’s seen Blaine this joyful and he doesn’t want to piece together and assess those emotional feelings or what that means for them as a family because it would involve delving into their broken past and he just wants to relish in the present. 

They’ve been there a little over an hour when Burt’s son comes home.

He stands in the doorway to the dining room, breathtakingly beautiful, his lips parted and his skin flushed and his eyes transfixed on Blaine.

Blaine nearly drops his fork. The air in the room is sucked, vacuumed, pulled tight and suffocating and everything seems to freeze, to just stop.

A dynamic pair of sky blue eyes gaze at him, burn and clash and mix into his own eyes, into his suddenly blistering skin, and Blaine’s pulse skyrockets, leaves him heaving and trembling.

It’s him. It’s the gorgeous boy, the one that enthralled him from the crowd, ensnared him with his beauty and his innocence while simultaneously demanding Blaine’s attention in a powerful, rousing way.

It’s him. Blaine is absolutely certain.

“Kurt!” His Mom says suddenly, rising out of her seat and Blaine stops to baffle at the situation, looks down in shock contemplation to consider the fact that his Mom knows his mysterious blue eyed angel, that they’ve met before, that he’s standing in the same room as them.

“It’s lovely to see you again! I’d like to introduce you to my son, Blaine,” she says happily and Blaine looks up at the mention of his name, his eyes landing directly on the boy’s face.

He feels the energy, high strung and thunderous and he wonders how on earth their parents aren’t realizing they’ve met before because it’s written so clearly across the boy’s face, Kurt, that he knows who Blaine is, that he knows precisely and exactly the moment Blaine is being recalled to, that he’s feeling and living it, too.

The silence in the room is running thin and Blaine realizes he needs to say something.

“Nice to meet you,” is all he manages, his voice low and strained.

“Hi,” Kurt squeaks, and oh, his voice his high and melodious, exactly what Blaine would imagine to accompany his angelic features. If their parents think the exchange between them is awkward, neither one of them mention it.

“Come take a seat, Kurt,” Burt instructs, and the blush on Kurt’s cheeks deepens right as Blaine realizes the only seat available at the table is directly to Blaine’s right.

Kurt walks slowly and hesitantly over to the seat, pulling out the chair and sitting with a cautiousness that Blaine would find hilarious if he didn’t know the context of their previous meeting, if he didn’t think it was also slightly adorable that this young, gorgeous boy was so flustered by Blaine’s presence, if Blaine wasn’t equally as flustered by this ridiculous turn of events.

Burt and Pam carry the remaining conversation while Kurt sits silently next to him, barely touching his food. Blaine’s hyper aware of everything he does, of the heat he can feel from having Kurt’s body this close, the way their shoulders are almost brushing, the sweet intoxicating vanilla smell that wafts in Blaine’s direction periodically.

He can hear his nervous swallows, feel the anxious energy thrumming from his body and he wants so desperately to look, to study the beautiful lines of his face this closely, overwhelmed by suddenly having this memory, this wish, this person so near.

He steals a glance sideways and immediately flickers his eyes away when he catches Kurt’s eyes trained on him. His lips raise into a small smile, because the idea of Kurt watching him, equally intrigued, makes him feel giddy for some reason and when he glances back, Kurt is looking down, his face deep red as if he’s been caught.

Blaine studies the sharp curve of his jaw, his ivory porcelain skin, so pale and fair that all the other colors on his face pop, strikingly vivid shades of rosy pink and ice blue and when Kurt chances a glance back, it’s Blaine’s turn to blush like a virgin school boy because he’s been openly admiring and gawking at this boy right at the dinner table.

The rest of dinner passes in a flurry of rushed glances, fluttering eyes and stolen looks until Blaine is wound up, strung tight with a desire to just talk to the boy, to freely look at him.

On a particular glance, Blaine notices that Kurt seems to have this guilty, secretive look on his face, as if he’s the only one who knows something that the rest of them at the table don’t. 

Kurt thinks Blaine doesn’t recognize him, Blaine realizes, as if it’s Kurt’s personal, hidden, embarrassing untold truth of where he knows Blaine from.

And Blaine shouldn’t remember him. He dances for hundreds of faces every single night, over and over again, and it doesn’t make sense that he recognizes Kurt now, when Kurt was in the crowd for all of two minutes. There’s no way for Kurt to know that he does, to hope that he does. Or maybe he hopes that he doesn’t.

The conversation at the table is winding down when suddenly Burt stands, clearing Pam’s plate.

“Why don’t you show Blaine your room?” He looks directly at Kurt, conveying a message that’s blatantly obvious to everyone in the room.

Blaine knows Burt has good intentions, but he doesn’t miss the way Kurt’s throat ripples nervously, the way he pleads silently with his eyes to his Dad, begging him not to leave the two of them alone.

Blaine’s been there.

He understands what it’s like to eighteen and gay, living in Ohio. He understands that most things, wishes and experiences and cravings become secret, simply by the nature of who they are, one unique diamond against a hundred bleak rocks. Anything exposed stands out, jagged and rough, the beauty overlooked simply by the rarity and it becomes isolating, battles and problems and wars that all have to be waged and fought and dealt with alone, because nobody else understands.

He’s almost certain Burt knows nothing of Kurt’s visit to the club, almost more certain that Kurt hasn’t talked to anyone about it. Blaine can see the mental freak out going on behind the smooth wall of Kurt’s forehead, otherwise unnoticeable by anyone unsuspecting, the chaos that nobody else understands because no one knows except Blaine, and Kurt has no way of explaining.

He feels bad for him, and also a little embarrassed that Kurt probably thinks he’s some predatory, creepy, sexual stripper that he doesn’t want to be left alone with.

Burt stares harder at Kurt until he buckles under the pressure, only barely stifling a sigh as he stands, wringing his hands.

When he looks at Blaine, he doesn’t look quite at him, his eyes landing on the shell of his ear, the tip of his shoulder, anywhere that’s looking just barely past him, through him, above him.

“Um, this way,” he breathes and turns sharply.

Blaine stands frozen in place for a moment until his legs finally kick into action, following Kurt with his emotions and thoughts a giant, tangled mess, his pulse fluttering and twitching.

…..

Kurt’s room is large, bright gentle lights and soft hues of gray and white. It’s a beautiful space, perfectly color coordinated and designed so everything fits with functionality and purpose. It doesn’t look anything like a normal teenage boy’s room would look like.

Blaine follows him down the stairs, landing at the bottom with a soft thud.

A bulletin board sits on the wall right at the bottom of the stairs and Blaine is drawn to it, looking over the conglomeration of souvenirs and photos, programs and tickets. He’s just decided Kurt’s the most photogenic person he’s ever seen when the silence is broken, soft and gentle.

“Well this is it,” Kurt chuckles nervously, motioning his arms around the room. “There’s not much to see,” he looks self consciously around his room as if he’s worried Blaine is silently judging him.

“Show choir, huh?” Blaine comments, a hint of humor to his voice as he stares at a particular photo on the wall of several teenagers in bright costumes. A thrill shoots down his body when he realizes Kurt can probably sing.

“Oh, uh,” Kurt stammers, interpreting Blaine’s humor as mockery, and seriously, how is it possible for someone to turn so red? “It’s just a silly after school club I do. Joined cause my Dad said I needed more friends,” he jokes, and there’s something rather sad and lonely hidden behind his words. Blaine turns his attention away from the photo to gaze at him across the room.

“It’s cool,” he says sincerely. “I was in show choir in high school,” he smirks and there’s something wondrous expanding and blossoming in Kurt’s eyes.

“Oh,” he says quietly, nodding his head.

The awkward silence returns, settling into the room, the same unspoken conversation at the front of both their minds.

Blaine spots a collection of records sitting on a shelf and moves to look through them, eager to inventory Kurt’s music taste. He can feel Kurt’s eyes following him, watching as he moves.

“I recognize you too, you know,” Blaine says casually as he thumbs through the records, pulling out the Sound of Music. He needs to know, needs to hear Kurt say that what he’s thinking is true, needs some sort of confirmation that this is real and happening, that he didn’t just make this all up in his head, and he’s not sure how else to break through the wall, to bridge the gap.

Kurt makes a choked off noise and Blaine barely holds back his laughter. Barely.

“I’m sorry?” he asks breathily, and his voice has risen several octaves. The sound does something to Blaine, deep in his chest, makes his heart beat faster, his nerves dance.

“Amour Fou?” Blaine turns around to look at him. “The gay bar in Columbus? I recognize you too,” he says.

“I think you have the wrong person,” Kurt replies quickly, shaking his head and Blaine would reconsider, think maybe he is mistaken except Kurt’s such a terrible (yet endearing) liar, so obviously ashamed and embarrassed and there’s no way Blaine is wrong. He couldn’t forget those eyes, the same ones staring back at him now, picturesque and lovely, even if he tried.

Blaine doesn’t say anything, just turns back to thumbing through the records as Kurt sits down on the edge of his bed.

He’ll play Kurt’s game.

After a minute of silence he turns back towards Kurt, moving to sit on the bed next to him.

“That’s my bad,” he apologizes, and Kurt peaks up at him under long eyelashes. He settles next to Kurt, their shoulders brushing again. He can hear the hitch in Kurt’s breath.

“You just reminded me so much of someone I saw while I was working there the other day,” Blaine carries on. “He was young, pale skin and blue eyes, the resemblance is uncanny actually. He was practically eye fucking me from the bottom of the stage,” Kurt’s eyes grow wider and then narrow. “Definitely a virgin,” Blaine finishes.

“Oh, screw off,” Kurt groans, burying his face into his hands and a laugh, a real, hard, unforced and genuine laugh escapes Blaine’s lips before he can even process it.

“So it was you,” Blaine states, not leaving room for it to be a question. Kurt drops his hands and glares up at him.

“I didn’t say that,” he snaps and Blaine’s grin only grows.

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he tells him, because truly, he just wants Kurt to stop feeling so guilty and realize, if he hasn’t already, that everything he felt there, everything that passed between them was also experienced by Blaine.

“You’re relentless,” Kurt mutters but he’s smiling now too, a small, modest, curve of his lips.

Blaine hums his agreement as Kurt stares at the wall and they sit in silence for a few more minutes. Blaine studies the lines of his face again, because he can’t get enough. It’s so foreign and new and beautiful, inches of gorgeous material that he can’t quite wrap his head around, that he wants to just sit and stare at forever.

“You don’t exactly strike me as someone who would be a stripper,” Kurt says suddenly, a little more confidently. “Out of costume of course,” he adds. He brings his gaze back to Blaine and their eyes meet, knocking the words Blaine was about to reply off his tongue.

They stare at each other for a charged moment before Blaine formulates a response.

“Oh, yeah? And what exactly do I strike you as?” he asks, a little more playfully, because the conversation is shifting and Kurt’s opening up, finally saying something now that his admission is out of the way. “Questions? Comments? Concerns?” he teases and the corners of Kurt’s eyes crinkle as he shoots Blaine a breathtaking smile.

“Concern, actually,” he retorts, and Blaine quirks his eyebrow, his mouth hung open a little in amused shock because he wasn’t actually expecting Kurt to answer.

“What?” the word leaves his mouth around a breathless laugh.

“Try wearing navy blue pants with that shirt instead, next time,” Kurt looks down his body and Blaine follows his eyes, because yeah, he’s wearing a navy blue and red plaid shirt and black jeans. Blaine feels the heat rise in his cheeks and Kurt gives him a tiny smirk.

“You’re sassy when you’re not flustered,” Blaine replies, watching the blush return to Kurt’s cheeks but instead of looking away, his shoulders lift into a small shrug.

Blaine picks at a thread on the cover of the bed as he thinks about Kurt’s comment, reveling in the fact that Kurt doesn’t see him as a stripper, as some disgusting dancer. It lifts a small weight off his shoulders, a weight that comes from the helpless voice in the back of his mind, the one crying out in protest at the person he’s becoming, a person he wants nothing to do with.

“You know,” he says softly and Kurt flicks his eyes back to Blaine’s face from where he’s been watching Blaine’s hand pull at the thread. “You probably wouldn’t say that about me if you saw me in any other setting,” he confesses and Kurt cocks his head slightly.

“And what are you like in any other setting?” he asks gently.

“Crude, vulgar, bitter,” he looks up at Kurt, surprised by how easy it is to just talk to him. His face is gentle, curious and open and engaged, like he’s eager to hear what Blaine has to say, and so astoundingly gorgeous. “A jackass,” Blaine adds, just for good measure, looking for signs of judgement on Kurt’s face, but all he does is nod.

“What’s so different about here?” Kurt asks, the tone of his voice innocent, as if he genuinely doesn’t realize the effect he’s having on Blaine, that’s he’s the reason Blaine is different here, in his quiet bedroom.

Blaine shrugs. “Here is safe, I guess,” he gestures to the whole house. “Warm and loving. I don’t know, it’s just… real,” he finishes lamely because he’s never been very good about digesting and processing and verbalizing his feelings.

“And home isn’t safe?” Kurt asks, his eyes fixed on Blaine’s as if he’s reading, as if he’s searching, finding and studying Blaine’s answers for himself before Blaine even says them.

Blaine considers his question, tries to decide if a place so broken, a place where he feels lost and worthless and damaged can be safe, even if he’s never actually harmed.

“Well, one thing’s for sure,” he answers, backing away from the emotional depth of the conversation because it’s getting too deep, too real, too messy for him and he doesn’t want to think about it anymore. “Home doesn’t have a gorgeous boy like you in it,” he teases lightheartedly.

Kurt’s face scrunches up and he rolls his eyes. “Oh, please,” he mutters.

“What?” Blaine asks incredulously, because that’s not exactly the reaction he’s used to getting when he compliments someone and while he was teasing, he meant it genuinely. Kurt is the most gorgeous boy he’s ever laid eyes on.

“I don’t want to hear any of your rehearsed lines you use to lure all the young boys with,” his nose is still scrunched up as he speaks. “Especially when I know they’re not true.”

Those words sting, hit Blaine in a deep and sensitive spot behind his heart.

“You don’t think I think you’re gorgeous?” Blaine latches on to the second part of his comment, moving past the insult and when a shy, insecure look creeps across Kurt’s face, Blaine marvels, wonders how this boy doesn’t realize how effortlessly beautiful he is. Surely someone has called him gorgeous before.

“I think you’re a stripper and you know how to seduce,” he replies and he looks at Blaine earnestly, as if he’s trying to convey the seriousness in his next sentence, trying to convince them both. “And I’m not going to fall for such tacky advances,” he says thoughtfully.

Where Blaine would usually fight back, say something offensive and rude in response to being insulted, hide under his mean and bitter shell, he only finds a growing and urgent desire to correct Kurt’s opinion, to gain his approval, to please this intelligent, witty, stunning boy sitting next to him. He can’t think of a single retort because Kurt was truthful, blunt and honest without being horribly mean.

Blaine’s not deserving of him in the slightest, he damn well knows that. But he is sure as hell going to try and change that.

“Well, it seems I’ve made a horrible first impression,” he says. “We need to be reintroduced,” he extends his hand out to Kurt.

“Blaine Anderson,” He looks at him honestly, open and vulnerable and genuine, baring his soul.

Kurt’s eyes stay on his face as he reaches out to grab Blaine’s hand. A jolt, hot and enticing and beautiful spreads through them both when their warm skin touches.

“Kurt Hummel,” he replies, his eyes sparkling and that beautiful smile returning to his face. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Blaine smiles back, feeling like a giddy, ridiculous teenager again.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too. And, for the record, I do think you’re gorgeous.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry about the length of this chapter, I tend to get a little wordy and sometimes I get carried away lol. I hope you all enjoy the second chapter! Blaine is a little angsty, but what's Klaine fan fiction without Blangst right?! I will be out of town this coming week, so in two weeks I will upload the next two chapters. As always, comments and Kudos are greatly appreciated :) Thank you!
> 
> (Also, my depictions of exotic dancing are not meant to be demeaning or offensive in any way. Blaine's situation and character cause me to write it in a way that conveys his hatred for it, but that isn't necessarily my feelings towards it and I would hate to impose society's stereotypes on any reader who happens to be or know an exotic dancer. Thank you!)


	3. Speed So Fast, I Felt Like I Was Drunk Pt. 1

Kurt tires to ignore the way his stomach flutters, winding and twirling, the way his pulse quickens.

No one has ever called him gorgeous before. 

No one has ever looked at him the way Blaine is right now, his honey eyes gazing intently.

It’s a new and exposing feeling, overwhelming and exhilarating and downright terrifying, uncharted territory that he’s tentatively dipping his toes into. 

Kurt’s breath hitches before he narrows his eyes and looks at him skeptically.

“I still don’t believe you,” he says doubtfully, because really, Kurt knows he’s not that attractive. Blaine, on the other hand, is stunning and the logical part of Kurt’s brain reasons that anything he says is probably just a ruse to get into Kurt’s pants.

Why else would he say it?

“But um, thank you… I guess,” he stumbles awkwardly, his voice embarrassingly breathy. He can’t help it, the look on Blaine’s face seems sincere and Kurt’s hammering heart betrays his brain. 

A smile breaks across Blaine’s face, like he’s satisfied enough with Kurt’s response. He gives him a wink before shuffling forward, moving off the bed towards Kurt’s vinyl collection again.

Kurt watches him as he browses.

He’s still trying to figure out how the hell Blaine’s standing in his room right now, the very room where Kurt masturbated to thoughts of him, of the boy not ten feet from him.

Before though, Kurt had no clue who he was. He wasn’t Blaine, he was an idea, a wish, something Kurt was using to blow off some of the festering urges of his sexuality that he could never act upon. Now, he’s no longer the boy with the blue thong. He has a name, and a personality, and a mother for God’s sake, a mother who is sitting upstairs with Kurt’s father.

Rather, even more confusing for Kurt, he’s both of those things now, two contradicting dimensions of one person that don’t seem to quite fit. He tires to push them together in his mind, to make sense of the puzzle in front of him but he can sense there are pieces missing, holes and gaps of the real Blaine, the one hiding behind the charade.

Kurt watches the way his hazel eyes rake over the record in his hands, the way his pink lips curl into a soft smile at the corner. Small fine curls escape from his hair gel, framing his face.

He looks so gentle and beautiful and the thought flickers across Kurt’s mind again, that although his body is fit and gorgeous, he just doesn’t seem like somebody who would resort to exotic dancing. 

Kurt can barely comprehend the complexity of the situation in front of him. He knows it’s probably safest to back away from the rush of uncovered feelings he’s discovered. Whatever his reasoning is, Blaine is still a stripper, older and experienced and not anything close to what Kurt considers his type, (or at least what Kurt imagines his type to be, there’s not much for him to go off in Lima where he doesn’t know another gay boy). 

Not to mention the fact that Blaine could potentially be Kurt’s brother.

He knows it’s dangerous. The sensible part of him screams that he’ll only get hurt, that Blaine would never actually consider Kurt for a moment, that he’s kind of a dick. Kurt would let it go, would stifle it and trample it and go back to waiting, go back to his perfectly created idea of prince charming, except…

Except beneath Blaine, inside him, deep down, there’s the smallest innocent hint of a beautiful unique soul that desperately needs saving.

Kurt caught a glimpse, a tiny fleeting sliver of someone more, someone passionate and caring, intriguing and mystifying and a thousand different elements of confusing.

The only thing Kurt knows for certain is that, despite his better judgement, he finds himself even more captivated with him, for different reasons than before, for the same reasons as before, fueled by a million foreign emotions he doesn’t know how to interpret.

Blaine didn’t laugh at him. He didn’t humiliate him when he easily could’ve, when he had leverage over him in several areas. He simply told Kurt he recognized him and as embarrassed as Kurt first felt, he feels alleviated now, some of the energy and the emotions and the tensions from that night lifted off his shoulders, spread and passed and shared by someone who understands. Kurt feels immensely grateful for that simple act of kindness, though he doesn’t understand exactly why Blaine would do that. 

A booming call from Burt snaps Kurt out of his thoughts.

Blaine sets the record he was holding down and shoots Kurt a smile, one that makes his eyes twinkle and Kurt’s heart skip a beat.

He follows Blaine up the stairs, and he most definitely does not look at his ass through those goddamn tight black pants. 

“Thank you for such a wonderful dinner, Burt,” Pam gushes as she grabs her coat, placing a gentle kiss to Burt’s cheek. Kurt has to look away briefly.

It all feels too fast suddenly. 

The idea of having to rearrange and shape his family into something new has always been looming over Kurt’s head, something terrifying and unknown.

But it just never felt real. It never felt like something he had to actually consider, or actually worry about, just a shuddering thought that he hoped to God he never had to deal with, a threat that held little merit. 

Suddenly this dinner seems like a bridge, a crossing between idea and reality, between possibility and actuality. It’s the first stitch in the sewing together of a mess of broken people and Kurt’s terrified because he can feel how irreversible it seems.

It’s a mirror, fogged and steamed that has suddenly been wiped clean, clear and reflective, plain for him to see what lies ahead. A hazy, unfocused blur that has been broken through, pulled and focused to sharp crisp reality.

It’s a reality that consists of the four people standing in the entryway to his home.

Kurt watches as Blaine reaches out to shake Burt’s hand, and when Burt pulls Blaine into a hug, a spiked hot emotion that Kurt can’t quite name blooms in his chest, a mix of jealousy and disappointment and anxiety, fascination and wanting. 

God, this really is a mess.

Blaine pulls back, his eyes bright and fiery as he turns to Kurt.

“Wonderful to meet you again, Kurt,” he says, a smirk dancing on his lips and a smoothness to his voice that makes Kurt’s knees weak.

“Yeah, yeah um, you too,” Kurt replies, reaching out to shake the hand Blaine has extended. It feels comical, acting so formal after Kurt’s seen Blaine in a thong.

Blaine’s hand is warm and soft. Kurt feels it again, the intense thrumming energy of desire and there’s a look of humor and wonder mixed into Blaine’s golden irises as their hands linger together, almost unwilling to part.

Kurt gives Pam a hug and then the Anderson’s are leaving, Blaine eyeing Kurt one final time before he steps onto the porch. Burt closes the door behind them and turns back to Kurt, a quizzical look on his face.

“Again?” he asks. Kurt doesn’t have a clue what he’s referring to, his mind racing, his heart thumping, his body shaking with relief after the unexpected night.

“What?” he says.

“Blaine said it was wonderful to meet you again,” his Dad emphasizes. “Do you two know each other?”

Kurt’s eyes widen.

That bastard.

“No,” Kurt shakes his head. “No we don’t. I don’t know why he said that,” he lies.

Burt clears his throat.

“So, uh, you like him then?” he asks and Kurt’s skin grows so red he feels like he might combust into flames.

“What do you mean?” he all but shrieks.

“I mean did you guys get along?” his Dad looks back at him confusedly. Kurt barely stifles his sigh of relief.

“Yeah,” Kurt says, trying to wind himself down. “Yeah, he’s alright,” He can’t help but smile a little.

His Dad watches him for a moment, his eyebrows raised and Kurt curses himself for always being so flustered.

“What?” he says, a little snippier than he intends to. Burt raises his hands in surrender.

“Nothing,” he gives a small laugh. Kurt lifts his chin and turns to go down to his room.

“Wait, Kurt,” his Dad calls. “I want to talk to you ‘bout something,” he says. 

Kurt walks cautiously over to the couch and sits. 

“So, Pam and I were talking,” he begins and Kurt huffs.

“You mean when you sent me downstairs with Blaine without any warning?” he grumbles.

“Hey,” Burt warns him and Kurt sighs, settling back into the couch.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. He can’t be too hard on his Dad. It’s not like he knew anything about his previous encounter with Blaine.

“Pam and I were talking and,” he takes a deep breath. “I think things are going pretty well, Kurt. It might get a little more serious. What do you think of that?” he asks, looking out at Kurt from under his cap.

Kurt considers.

Putting everything with Blaine aside, Kurt feels nothing but happiness for his Dad, despite how messy and nerve racking a new family situation seems to him. Pam is beautiful and kind, and even though he was completely overwhelmed by Blaine sitting next to him, Kurt didn’t miss the way they interacted during dinner.

His Dad looks joyful, and Kurt doesn’t want to say it, won’t say it, because he doesn’t think it’s quite to that point, but he looks in love.

Kurt wants that for him. More than he wants his own happiness, more than he wants anything else. He’ll set aside his own fears. He’ll adjust and adapt because he has to, because his Dad needs that from him. 

“Honestly, Dad? I think that’s wonderful,” he tells him, and he knows Burt understands. A smile passes between them, one of acceptance and support.

“We don’t get a lot of time together,” Burt says. “I want to spend some time with her, Kurt,” he continues slowly, as if he’s working up the courage to ask for Kurt’s approval on something. “So, we’re going to take a trip. Just me and her,” he finishes.

“A… a trip?” Kurt questions. He’s not opposed to the idea, it just sews the fabric of their potential family together that much further, reminds him of how serious this change could be, how cemented and prominent it seems to be becoming.

“How long?” he asks.

“A week,” Burt replies and Kurt sucks in a breath because, wow, that’s a long time for people who’ve been dating for less than two months. “It’s just to New York,” Burt adds.

Kurt nods slowly.

“I think it’s a good idea,” he comments. His Dad is right. If things are getting more serious, then they deserve this time together, to learn and to grow and to bask in the joy and simplicity of each other’s company.

He wishes that for his Dad. He truly does.

“Really?” Burt asks, his face hopeful. Kurt gives an encouraging nod.

“One more thing,” Burt says hesitantly. Kurt quirks his eyebrow.

“Blaine is going to stay here with you while we’re gone,” he reveals.

Kurt freezes.

“What?” he squeals.

“Kurt, please,” Burt pleads, but Kurt is already gone, anger and nervousness coursing through his veins, exploding and bursting from his body.

“The whole week?” he asks incredulously. Burt nods silently.

“I am eighteen years old, Dad!” Kurt splutters. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I don’t need a babysitter!”

“I know that, Kurt!” Burt yells back. “It’s not about needing a babysitter. It’s about you two spending time together and getting to know each other. He’s not going to be in charge of you. He’ll be here as a friend.”

Kurt closes his eyes and rubs at his temple.

He’s not upset about his Dad not trusting him, because when he looks at him he knows what he’s saying is true. The situation isn’t about Kurt needing a babysitter. Burt does trust him.

But Kurt can’t exactly explain to his Dad why he’s actually upset, not without delving into the heart of this giant, intricate mess. 

The thought of spending a week alone with Blaine terrifies Kurt. The fact that he didn’t get a say in the matter makes him livid.

“I have school,” Kurt counters.

“And you’ll still go to school,” Burt sighs tiredly. “Pam says Blaine has a job, so he might be working while he’s here anyway.”

Kurt barely restrains himself from screaming. 

“Kurt,” Burt says quietly. “Will you please do this? For me?”

Kurt sighs. He knows he ultimately doesn’t have a choice.

“Fine,” He eventually replies, looking at the ground.

“Thank you,” Burt says, pulling Kurt up and into a hug. Kurt stands stiff for a while until he eventually gives in and melts into his Dad, hugging him back.

They’ve both been through so much. It’s a sacrifice he’s willing to make to ensure his Dad’s happiness, for his Dad’s future.

With a heavy sigh he resigns to his fate. He’s spending a week with a stranger, a handsome stranger, someone he hardly knows.

Someone he already intimately knows all too well.

 

…….

 

It’s a Wednesday afternoon when Blaine and Pam arrive at Kurt’s house again.

Kurt hears them ring the doorbell. There’s shuffling around upstairs and the sound of Pam’s voice and Kurt sighs, gives himself three minutes, three minutes of quiet and solitude before he forces himself to go upstairs, to face Blaine.

As he walks up the stairs, he finds that while he’s not too keen on the idea of spending an entire week with Blaine, he is excited, anxious and desirous to see him again, his beautiful smile and sparking eyes.

He emerges from the basement, standing at the landing of the stairs and surveys his surroundings.

Burt shuffles around hurriedly, making all last minute checks and arrangements before their departure.

Pam stands by the door, waiting for Burt, her eyes red rimmed and tear stained. Kurt frowns as he tries to piece together why she’s upset.

And then he spots Blaine.

He’s standing in the corner, as far as physically possibly from his mother without being in a separate room, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and Kurt shudders a little because he looks angry. 

His jaw is clenched, the tips of his cheeks flushed, his breathing labored and staggered. His lips are pulled into a thin line, his hazel eyes clouded and diluted.

“Kurt!” Pam greets, her voice watery and shaky, masked by her overwhelming positivity and Kurt watches as Blaine looks up and notices him, his face softening slightly and a light shade of something new filtering into his eyes.

“Hi, Pam,” he smiles, pulling her into a hug. There’s an unspoken awkwardness, pulling and tugging between Blaine and Pam that Kurt is undoubtedly standing in the middle of, oblivious to the context.

His eyes glance back to Blaine to find him still watching him. Kurt offers him a tentative, shy smile, one that Blaine barely returns, visibly forcing his lips to form a tiny, painful smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Kurt feels a powerful, commanding, compelling impulse to cross the room and pull him into a hug, to wrap him in his arms and hold him, to calm him down. He stands his ground and fights it, wills himself not to move.

Burt grabs the last of his things and walks toward Kurt, extending his arms.

“See ya later kid,” He says, pulling Kurt into a hug. Kurt clings to him. “Be safe. I love you, okay?” he says and Kurt nods, looking into his eyes and smiling.

“I love you too, Dad,” he replies. Burt squeezes his arm before moving across the room to Blaine, giving him a clap on the shoulder.

“If you need anything, let me know alright?” he tells him, and Blaine just gives a short, silent nod, his lips pulled into a tight smile.

Burt offers his elbow to Pam. “Ready?” he grins and Pam takes his arm, gazing lovingly at him. 

“Bye Kurt!” She exclaims. She glances at Blaine, gives him a fraction of a nod and Kurt looks between them again, bewildered and confused.

Blaine doesn’t move as Kurt follows their parents out the door.

“Have fun, you two!” he calls as Burt helps Pam into the car and shoves his own suitcase into the trunk. “Use protection,” he reminds them and his Dad shoots him a look as Pam gives a melodious laugh.

He gives a small wave as the car pulls out of the driveway, watching it travel all the way down the road in an attempt to avoid the inevitable, to buy himself a little more time before he faces the beginning of what he can imagine might be the longest week of his entire life.

Finally, the crisp dusk air forces him to turn back to the house, his feet freezing and his nose chilled red at the tip.

He steps back in the house and locks the door. When he turns to look at Blaine, he’s not there anymore.

Kurt walks into the living room to find him sitting on the couch, leaning back into the cushions with his eyes closed.

Kurt clears his throat awkwardly.

Blaine’s eyes shoot open and he gazes at Kurt, his eyes intense and intimidating.

“S-so,” Kurt stutters nervously, unsure of what to say now that they’re alone and Blaine’s stare is so harsh, drastically different from the last time they were alone, the gentle, kind, mystifying edges hardened into something cold. “What do you want to do? We could um, watch a movie or something,” Kurt offers and Blaine gives a short, cruel laugh.

“I’m not here to be your fucking buddy,” he finally speaks, and Kurt’s jaw drops open, stunned. “We don’t even have to speak to each other. In fact, I’d prefer it if we didn’t. You do your thing,” his eyes are challenging, aggressive and defensive. “And I’ll do mine. Then maybe this week will pass a hell of a lot quicker,” he mutters.

Kurt stands motionless, paralyzed with shock and hurt and once again, he feels like a massive idiot. He was right, all his intuitions were right, Blaine is rude and mean and however he was acting the other night was fake. He would never actually genuinely consider Kurt, he doesn’t even want to spend time in the same place as Kurt.

Kurt’s overwhelmed with confusion. It’s so unalike what he’s experienced the last two times he’s encountered Blaine, and he wonders just how many puzzling sides there are to this boy.

He’s supposed to endure an entire week of this?

“Huh,” Kurt says. “It’s actually making sense now.” Blaine looks up at him.

“What’s making sense?” he snaps back, and Kurt feels the anger seething under his skin, fueled by the hurt Blaine’s exposed roughness is causing him.

“The part about you being a jackass,” Kurt bites back, because he’s not about to let Blaine come into his home and push him around, not when neither of them want this week, not when Kurt was about to make an attempt to be kind and hospitable, only to be shot down and disrespected.

“I’ll be in my room if you need me. That is of course, if you can stomach to look at me for that long,” Kurt snarls, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He turns quickly, not giving Blaine a chance to reply, and flees down the stairs to his room.

He can’t help the tears that fall hot and fast from his eyes as he flings himself on to his bed. He feels embarrassed and ignorant, stupid that he was excited to see Blaine, that he thought anything more of their situation in the first place.

Blaine’s exactly what Kurt suspected, deep down, before the foolish, unloved and young part of him overlooked it because of the craved attention he was finally receiving.

He lays there for a while, contemplating if he should even make dinner or let just let Blaine starve, when he hears a quiet knock on his door.

“Can I come in?” Blaine’s muffled voice sounds from the other side. Kurt doesn’t even have time to say no, to fix his hair or look at his puffy eyes in the mirror because Blaine is pushing his door open, slipping inside.

He stands by the door, his head hung a little and his face full of regret. Kurt sits on the bed and waits for him to say something, anything, trying to ignore the fact that he’s a slobbering mess and Blaine can see he’s been crying and god, this is so embarrassing.

“I’m sorry,” he finally breathes. He looks sheepishly up at Kurt. “I get kind of mean when I’m upset,” he says quietly.

“You don’t say,” Kurt deadpans and he can tell Blaine bites back a small smile.

“I didn’t mean what I said,” Blaine says as he takes a hesitant step towards Kurt, like he wants to come closer but isn’t sure if he’s allowed. “I really didn’t. I didn’t mean to hurt you,” his voice is gentle, his face sincere and Kurt doesn’t know what to believe or trust about him anymore.

“Please don’t not speak to me for the entire week. I don’t know why I said that,” he apologizes. 

“Why are you so upset?” Kurt questions. “I didn’t realize spending a week here with me would be that be bad,” he chuckles bitterly. God, he should’ve known no one in their right mind would be eager to be with him, especially not someone like Blaine.

“No, God no, Kurt, that’s not it,” he says fervently and they both freeze. It’s the first time Blaine has said his name aloud and it rings through the air, powerful and clear, burying its way under Kurt’s skin and into his heart. 

“Can I sit down?” Blaine asks after a minute, and Kurt gives an indecisive shrug. He’s not sure he wants Blaine to come any closer, but he also feels a strange sense of urgency, like Blaine’s not close enough. He doesn’t want him to leave.

Blaine sits next to him and studies him intently until Kurt’s fidgeting and restless under his gaze.

“Were you crying?” he asks. There’s a hint of concern and fondness to his tone that tugs on Kurt’s heart.

“No,” he lies. Blaine’s hazel eyes give a humorous sparkle.

“You’re a really terrible liar,” he comments and Kurt gives him a shove as Blaine laughs. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again, his face turning serious. “I really didn’t mean what I said.” Kurt doesn’t know what to say to that, because he’s not entirely sure if Blaine means it.

“Why are you upset?” He asks again, curious about Blaine’s odd behavior and eager to shift the attention off of him. Blaine takes a sharp intake of breath.

“I got into a pretty bad fight with my Mom on the way here,” he studies the wall as he speaks.

“About what?” Kurt asks, and he doesn’t really care if he’s asking something too personal because Blaine kind of owes him an explanation.

“It’s nothing,” Blaine sighs dramatically and Kurt rolls his eyes.

“Okay,” he says simply. He’s not going to beg Blaine for the answer. If he wants to tell Kurt, he’ll tell him honestly, as an apology, not as a cry for attention.

Blaine looks at him, studying him curiously with a look of mild surprise before he continues. 

“My boss despises me for some reason,” he explains, gesturing to nothing. “I’m in enough trouble already for leaving the entire week, though my Mom didn’t exactly give me a choice. She wanted me to take the whole week off, but I knew he’d fire me if I did, so…” he looks off into the distance. “Plus, she kind of hates that job,” he adds and Kurt laughs. “Hence the argument,” Blaine smiles at him. Kurt thinks that’s kind of a silly reason to be so upset, but he senses there’s probably more to the argument, or at least more to Pam and Blaine’s dynamic that he doesn’t understand. 

“Why does he hate you?” Kurt asks. “You were the best one there,” he tells him honestly, because he’s pretty certain Blaine’s being truthful with him.

Blaine gives a small, grateful smile before he sighs again, but it’s not dramatic this time, instead it’s full of sadness and frustration, heavy and painful. 

“Another story for another day,” he says and Kurt lets it go for now.

“C’mon,” he says, hitting Kurt’s shoulder with his own. “Let’s go watch that movie or something,” the brightness has returned to his smile and he looks like he did before, carefree and open, his iced defenses cracked and melting.

He grabs Kurt’s hand and pulls him up until they’re standing face to face. Kurt can’t help but notice how handsome he looks in the light of his room, reflective and shadowed in the ambiance of the soft lights. 

Everything about him is so male, muscular and strong and attractive and it leaves Kurt’s body trembling with want, with need. 

Blaine turns to leave and the word escapes Kurt’s mouth before he can stop himself.

“Blaine,” Kurt calls and Blaine stills, his body freezing. It’s the first time Kurt’s said Blaine’s name aloud. He won’t admit to loving the way it rolls of his tongue, like it was meant to be there.

There’s a peaceful and curious expression on his face as he turns back around to face Kurt.

“I’m sorry you’re here,” he says softly. He wasn’t exactly thrilled about the situation and he imagines Blaine is in a similar state. Judging by the sound of his home life, Kurt’s certain this must be harder for him.

Blaine shakes his head and grabs Kurt’s hand, making Kurt’s heart beat in overdrive.

“I’m not,” he grins.

….

“Your taste in movies is in your ass,” Kurt says around a mouthful of lasagna, and Blaine makes a dramatic gasp in mock offense.

“Are you kidding me?” he replies, snatching the remote from Kurt’s hand and turning the volume louder. “You can’t actually be serious right now.” 

“Everyone knows The Hunchback of Notre Dame is the worst Disney movie,” Kurt mutters and Blaine throws a piece of lettuce at him.

“Take that back,” he demands.

“Nope,” Kurt grins wickedly. Blaine nudges him in the side with his foot. 

“You’re only saying that because you look like Quasimodo,” he says and Kurt gapes at him.

“You did not just say that,” he laughs in disbelief. Blaine gives a satisfied nod of his head.

“Try me, Hummel,” Blaine teases, turning his attention back to the TV and Kurt has to pause, take a step back and realize that they’re flirting, that it feels surprisingly comfortable and natural, even though nothing about their situation is normal, nothing about the fact that they’re here together because their parents are dating should make this comfortable flirtatious banter normal. 

“Ungh,” Blaine groans and Kurt’s eyebrows shoot up because that’s certainly an interesting noise he finds himself definitely wanting to hear again. “Listen to the music!” Blaine yells passionately. “It’s so beautiful! You, sir,” he says, pointing his fork at Kurt. “Have no appreciation for the arts.”

Kurt bites back a laugh. He’s so different from the Blaine Kurt saw dancing that first night, the intimidating, angry one that walked through his door earlier with a disdain for the world. Still just as enchanting and mesmerizing, sexy and stunning in a different, more subtle way. 

Kurt catches it again, that skittering glimpse of something deeper, and he clings to it, runs it over in his hands and studies it just a little bit closer.

He bats the thought away, crumples and tucks it under the frantic mess of emotions he refuses to tread through. 

Kurt glances at the clock.

“Unfortunately, I won’t have the privilege of watching the whole thing with you,” he sighs dramatically and Blaine shakes his head in amusement. “I still have school and responsibilities tomorrow,” Kurt says as he stands, holding out a hand to clear Blaine’s plate.

A look of disappointment flashes across Blaine’s face. Instead of giving Kurt his plate, he grabs on to his outstretched hand and stands.

“Anything I can do to convince you to stay?” he asks playfully and Kurt makes a sour face.

“Put on a better movie,” Kurt suggests and Blaine makes a hum of consideration before cocking his head to the side.

“Looks like no movie for you,” he decides finally and Kurt rolls his eyes.

They walk their dishes to the sink. Kurt can feel Blaine’s eyes watching him as he goes.

“You’ll be okay in the guest room?” he asks, rinsing their plates under the warm water.

“I’ll manage. I can think of somewhere I’d rather sleep though, somewhere a little cozier,” he wiggles his eyebrows and Kurt snorts.

“Not a chance,” he replies. He’s a thousand percent sure Blaine’s joking, but his heart beats a little faster still.

“Such a buzzkill,” Blaine murmurs. “Oh, hey, by the way, I might not see you tomorrow,” he says and Kurt raises an eyebrow. “I have to leave pretty early for work with the drive and everything and I doubt I’ll be up before you leave for school,” he explains and Kurt nods.

Right. He almost forgot about everything. About Blaine’s work.

“Well,” Kurt says, turning off the faucet and flicking his hands. “Have a good night and a good day tomorrow,” he smiles.

“Night, Phoebus,” Blaine winks and Kurt blushes slightly.

“Oh, I’ve upgraded from Quasimodo?” he asks in surprise.

“Yes,” Blaine nods seriously and Kurt bits back another smile. “I think a courageous, handsome prince fits you better,” he says, and there’s a look on his face that Kurt can’t quite name, an unabashed glimmer in his eye, his gaze unapologetic in its sincerity, intense and admiring, laced with an uninhibited gentleness and kindness that Kurt doesn’t know what to do with, that makes his body throb, his heart yearn, and heat climb up his skin.

Kurt’s never seen anything like it before. Certainly not directed at him. 

Blaine’s compliments are like golden honey, smooth and warm as they trickle down into his heart. Kurt has a harder time believing he doesn’t mean them, even if he can’t see how on earth they’re true.

“Goodnight, Frollo” he says in mock sweetness, moving to the stairs and heading down to his room for a long night of restless sleep, laughing at Blaine’s surprised scoff. 

…..

“Do I have to come?” Kurt sighs, sifting through his locker the next day at school. Puck groans in frustration next to him.

“Come on, man! I want you there,” he pleads and Kurt gives him a disbelieving look.

“It’s not one of my normal parties,” he reassures. “I’m not inviting the jocks or anything like that. I’m inviting the glee club, dude! And get this,” he says, getting a wild, determined look in his eye. “My parents will be gone. Gone!” he makes a disappearing motion with his hands.

“So…” Kurt says slowly.

“So we can break into their liquor cabinet, duh!” He exclaims and Kurt sighs. “Doesn’t that sound fun?”

“Nothing about watching Rachel Berry sing drunkenly for four hours sounds fun, Puck,” Kurt says. “You know this isn’t my thing,” he chastises.

“Please,” Puck sighs in defeat and Kurt shuts his locker.

“I can’t anyway,” he says truthfully, remembering Blaine.

“Why?”

“I have… company,” and he’s not lying. He doesn’t even know if Blaine will be home tomorrow night, but Kurt will take any excuse he can get to not go.

“Who?” Puck says, his face twisting in confusion. 

Kurt swallows. It’s better to just tell the whole truth. Well, except the part about Blaine being the stripper from the club Puck took him to.

“My Dad has a girlfriend,” he explains. “They’re out of town and her son is spending the week at my house.”

“Who is he? Maybe I would know him. Does he go here?” Puck questions.

“No he’s older, like…” Kurt trails off when he realizes he doesn’t even know how old Blaine is. Didn’t his Dad say early twenties? “He’s in his early twenties. And he’s from… well he’s from Columbus I guess,” Kurt figures, because that’s where the bar is.

“Dude that’s like an hour and a half away,” Puck looks at him. “How did your parents even meet?”

Kurt pauses. “I literally have no idea,” he realizes.

“Well just bring him with you!” Puck suggests and Kurt laughs.

“Puck did you not hear me? He’s in his twenties. He’s not going to want to come to some high school party,” Kurt points out.

“Uh, wrong,” Puck scoffs. “College boys love parties.”

Kurt sighs. He knows Puck won’t give up until he agrees. He might as well get a little compromise out of this. He’s almost certain Blaine will say no. 

“Fine, I’ll ask him okay? If he says yes, then I’ll come,” he promises. “But,” he holds up his hand. “If he says no, I’m staying home with him.”

“Deal,” Puck grins. He punches Kurt’s shoulder lightly. “See ya later, porcelain.”

…..

Kurt doesn’t see Blaine at all that day.

He tries not to think about how Blaine’s off dancing, his smooth olive skin and strong muscles on display for someone else, someone new, someone else’s eyes, someone else’s attention. 

A slithering sharp vine of jealousy, hot and stabbing settles in his stomach, makes him long and ache for things he’s not even sure he wants to acknowledge, things he knows don’t belong to him, things he can only imagine the feeling of. 

Blaine could become his brother, he reminds himself. Nothing about him should be tied to Kurt.

He doesn’t see Blaine until the next morning, when he walks into the kitchen to make breakfast.

“Blaine!” He shrieks. “Oh my God! Where are your clothes?” he cries, covering his eyes with his hand.

Blaine stands near the coffee machine, clad in nothing except the smallest, tightest pair of black briefs Kurt has ever seen.

The rest of him is bare, his broad chest and thick muscled legs mere feet from where Kurt’s standing.

Kurt peeks at him from between his fingers and immediately feels the all the blood in his body travel south. 

Good God. He will not get an erection in front of Blaine. 

Blaine turns around, a smirk on his face and Kurt nearly dies.

His curls are a mess, floppy and unruly, falling sloppily across his forehead. A light shadow of stubble flickers across his chin and his lips are a vibrant warm shade of pink.

He looks debauched, unkempt and wild, as if he had just rolled out of bed and Kurt knows his arousal in manifesting itself through his bright red flustered skin.

“I seem to remember a certain incident where you saw me in a lot less than this,” his voice is ringing with satisfaction. “You weren’t complaining then.”

Kurt chokes on a breath. 

“You can put your hand down,” he says smugly and Kurt shakes his head.

“No,” he says firmly. “No. From now on, for the rest of this week, you wear clothes at all times,” he instructs. “That includes mornings,” he adds.

“I didn’t bring any pajamas,” Blaine giggles gleefully, an absolutely adorable sound.

“Jesus Christ,” Kurt mutters, taking his hand down slowly.

“Toast?” Blaine offers, as if Kurt’s a guest in his home.

“Sure,” Kurt replies, looking anywhere but at Blaine.

He settles at the table while Blaine fiddles around in the kitchen. The silence between them is comfortable, flexible and serene, even as Kurt feels his nerves pulled tight and longing, Blaine’s tan naked body moving gracefully. 

Kurt decides now is as good a time as ever.

“Are you working tonight?” he says casually.

“Nope,” Blaine replies, grabbing milk from the fridge.

“So, um, I have this thing. Well, it’s not really my thing it’s actually my friend’s thing but…” Kurt rambles. “It’s you know, like a get together, a few of my friends…”

“A party?” Blaine cuts him off with an amused expression. Kurt blushes.

“Yes, a party,” he rolls his eyes. “Anyway, I mean if you’re not busy I was wondering if maybe you want to come with me?” he looks at him curiously.

“You’re asking me to come to a party with you?” Blaine responds and Kurt fidgets with his hands. He knew Blaine would laugh at this.

“Well I mean, only if you want to, you don’t have to of course,” he rambles hurriedly. “It’s just a suggestion. You don’t have to. I just figured if you didn’t have anything going on,” he trails off, embarrassed.

The toast pops loudly from the toaster and Blaine grabs the bread, placing it on two separate plates.

He butters the toast slowly while Kurt braces himself for his response.

He fills two glasses of milk and carries the food over to the table, setting some down in front of Kurt and taking a seat across from him.

Kurt looks at him expectantly, waiting for an answer.

“Blaine?”

Blaine chews loudly for a second before looking up at Kurt.

“Of course I’ll go with you, Kurt,” he smiles. “I just like seeing you like this. You get kind of cute when you’re all flustered and embarrassed,” he snickers.

Kurt glares at him before taking a bite of his toast.

“Jerk,” he mumbles. Blaine winks at him and Kurt feels the corners of his mouth lift into a smile, his heart twisting warmly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I really write 10k words in one chapter? Yes, I did... oops. So, I decided to split it into two chapters. Consider it an apology, maybe, for being several days late? I’ve had the absolute craziest past couple weeks and this chapter kicked my ass to write. I’m still not fully satisfied with the way it turned out, but it’s here now and it sets up everything for the next chapter, which I’m very excited about :) Chapter 5 will be up as soon as possible!! Thank you all for reading, I appreciate it so much and I hope you enjoy it! As always, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated!  
> (Also, I’m uploading this from my phone because I’m currently out of town and forgot my computer. Will someone tell me if the format looks right? I’m sorry I’m such a disaster y’all. Thank you for putting up with me.)


	4. Speed So Fast, I Felt Like I Was Drunk Pt. 2

The car ride to Puck’s house is awkward. They don’t speak a word to each other as Kurt drives.

Suddenly, Kurt’s mind is overridden with doubts. Blaine will probably think his friends are losers. He’ll probably think the party is lame, tame compared to what he’s experienced, Kurt guesses.

Then again, he has no idea. He still knows virtually nothing about Blaine. 

“Just a disclaimer,” Kurt warns as he pulls up to the curb. “This is my glee club we’re talking about here,” he begins but Blaine cuts him off.

“Kurt,” he says gently, his eyes sparkling in the dark car. Kurt can smell his cologne in the small space, fresh and clean and calming, pine trees and soft linen. “Stop worrying. I know what I’m getting into,” he gives Kurt a reassuring smile and Kurt feels his nerves calm.

Something about Blaine’s presence grounds him, stills his ever swirling anxiety while simultaneously making his pulse soar.

They travel up the driveway together, loud music blasting at them from behind the walls of the house. Kurt can see Blaine glancing at him out of the corner of his eye as he rings the doorbell.

“You look really nice tonight,” Blaine says quietly, shyly almost. Kurt’s wearing tight grey jeans with a purple sweater, black boots and a matching black jacket, his hair immaculately coiffed.

It could just be a simple compliment, but Kurt feels the velvety charged emotion behind it, the glimpse of something more, something deeper and richer and right, something Blaine probably shouldn’t be saying but something so perfect coming from his mouth.

Kurt’s not used to people noticing him, to people appreciating the way he dresses. 

He doesn’t get a chance to respond because the door swings open, revealing an already very drunken Puck.

“Kurt!” He yells loudly, holding up a drink and Kurt resists groaning. This night is already headed for disaster. Blaine grins brightly next to him.

“Is this your brother?” He exclaims wondrously, his eyes wide.

Both Kurt and Blaine bark out a chuckle.

“Um, no, Puck,” Kurt says. “Puck this is Blaine. Blaine,” he says, motioning to Puck and giving Blaine an apologetic look. “This is my friend, Puck.”

“Blaine! Hello!” Puck sings and then he looks at them confusedly. “Why are you standing out there? Come inside, it’s a party!” he beckons them inside and runs quickly back to the party, leaving Blaine and Kurt in the entryway.

Blaine closes the door and takes Kurt’s coat once he shrugs it off. He drapes their stuff on the arm of the closest couch, looking at Kurt with an amused smile.

“What?” Kurt hisses.

“He’s just different than I expected, that’s all,” he laughs. “You’re full of surprises, Hummel,” he says.

“Just wait,” Kurt sighs. When they turn the corner into the main room, Blaine lets out a low whistle.

“Wow,” he breathes and Kurt buries his face in his hands.

Various members of the glee club are strewn across the room, different degrees of drunk. Rachel is singing loudly in the corner, practically eating the microphone. Tina and Mike are making out heavily on the couch while Mercedes and Artie laugh loudly, drinks spilling down their hands. Brittany and Sam are dancing together in the middle of the room, Santana cursing something extremely loud and vulgar in their direction.

“Guys,” Puck cheers. “Kurt’s here! And he brought a friend,” The glee club cheers back, welcoming Kurt and casting various looks at Blaine. Rachel runs over in a staggered manner and throws herself at Kurt.

“Kurt,” she slurs. “I’m so glad you’re here! You missed it, I sang a 15 minute medley from Hairspray a minute ago. It was exceptional,” she sighs dreamily and Blaine chokes on a laugh behind Kurt.

“Ooh, who’s this hottie?” She stares at Blaine, batting her eyelashes and puffing out her chest a little, which Kurt barely resists rolling his eyes at. 

“Blaine,” Blaine greets, giving her a small wave. Rachel winks extremely obviously at Kurt.

“Sing with me, Blaine,” she begs, taking his hands and Kurt giggles at the alarmed expression that spreads across Blaine’s face.

“What? No, no, I don’t sing,” he stammers as she pulls him across the room, which Kurt finds odd because he remembers Blaine mentioning he had been in show choir. Blaine looks back at Kurt for help, a pleading look on his face, but Kurt just shrugs.

“She’s your responsibility now,” he mouths and Blaine sticks his tongue out at him.

Kurt walks over to Mercedes.

“Hey, sweetie,” She laughs, pulling him in for a hug. Kurt smiles as he falls into her comforting embrace. Besides Puck, Mercedes is really his only other true friend.

Unless he counts Blaine, which he’s not sure if he can. Or should. They’re not exactly friends, are they?

“Hot damn, Kurt!” Artie hoots next to him, his eyes trained on Blaine. “You finally get yourself a boyfriend?” he asks and Kurt blushes.

“No it’s…”

“He’s his brother!” Puck interrupts loudly. “How cool is that!” he hollers. Mercedes looks skeptically at Kurt.

“He’s your what?” she asks and Kurt sighs, not entirely in the mood to explain everything when he knows no one will remember it tomorrow anyway.

“Okay,” Santana calls. “Everyone settle down. That means you, Berry.” She glares at Rachel. Kurt looks over at Rachel to find her staring sadly at the microphone in her hands, Blaine standing helplessly next to her.

“Let’s play a game or something,” Santana announces. “Cause I’m bored as hell watching guppy lips dance with Britt over here,” she sighs.

Everyone gathers around in a circle on the floor, and Kurt feels a small thrill when Blaine walks hurriedly back to his side, sitting next to him.

“Your glee club is a fucking mess,” he whispers and Kurt nods.

“I tried to warn you,” he laughs.

“Let’s play never have I ever,” Tina says shrilly. There’s a chorus of agreement from around the circle as they all raise their fingers.

“I’ll start,” Artie says. “Never have I ever had a cavity,” he says with a smug grin, and everyone groans.

“You’re really milking that one for all it’s worth, huh Artie?” Mike says as he puts down a finger.

“He uses that one every time,” Kurt tells Blaine, raising his eyebrows when all of Blaine’s fingers stay in place.

“Really?” he’s surprised. Blaine shrugs.

“I’m a man of many talents,” he grins and it’s a shimmering ribbon, a fascinating glimmer that snakes its way around Kurt and drags him in. He’s intrigued, captivated with how much he doesn’t know, how much more there is to uncover, to learn and explore and discover about Blaine.

“My turn,” Santana demands. “Okay, hm, let me think,” she pauses. “Oh, I’ve got it. Never have I ever been engaged,” she sneers, looking right at Rachel as the whole glee club snickers.

“Boo!” Rachel yells, pointing her finger at Santana. “You said that to get me out!”

Out of the corner of his eye, Kurt sees Blaine lower a finger next to him.

The room stills.

Wait, what?

“I don’t want to play if you’re going to bully me!” Rachel cries. Mercedes rolls her eyes and Brittany gives her a comforting pat on the shoulder.

Kurt can’t focus on anything happening around him.

“New game!” Puck yells. “Seven minute in heaven,” the noise around the room clashes into Kurt, loud and searing as he tries to decipher and digest.

Blaine’s been engaged?

“Hummel’s awfully quiet over there,” Santana leers and Kurt’s eyes widen.

“Wh-"

“Santana,” Brittany says quietly. “You can’t send Kurt into the closet. He’s gay. He’ll just come back out,” she says seriously and everyone stops to stare at her.

“Oh my god,” Blaine laughs quietly.

“Okay, Brittany does have a point though,” Mercedes interjects. “We can’t choose Kurt for seven minutes in heaven. No one else here is gay,” she points out.

“His boyfriend is,” Artie coos.

“He’s not my boyfriend!” Kurt cries, finally finding his voice.

“Artie that’s disgustin,” Puck slurs. “That’s his fucking brother!” he exclaims.

“Wanky,” Santana smirks. 

“Oh my god, he’s not my brother either,” Kurt’s face grows embarrassingly red, and there’s a warm sprinkle of pink across Blaine’s cheeks, too.

“Five bucks says he won’t do it,” Sam calls and Kurt shoots him a glare.

“Seven minutes, Kurt,” Santana says to him. “In the closet with… with… whatever the hell his name is again,” she says, pointing at Blaine. “I dare you,” she narrows her eyes at him.

“I’m not going to do that,” Kurt responds, dread settling in the pit of his stomach, his mind bolting in a million opposing directions, his pulse racing.

Nine pairs of eyes stare at him, bore into his skin as they begin chanting, the mantra making him want to crawl out of his body and run as far away from the room as he can.

“Do it! Do it!”

“Kurt,” Blaine puts a gentle, warm hand on his shoulder. “Just come with me. You look like you’re about to pass out,” he lowers his head to catch Kurt’s gaze and Kurt finds his reflection in Blaine’s golden eyes. 

“We won’t do anything,” he assures. “I promise.”

Kurt looks at him for an electric moment, studies the beautifully carved planes of his face, running through all the possible scenarios in his head, all the reasons why he shouldn’t go with him.

Everything is so loud, so overwhelming and stifling and Blaine looks so calm, so peaceful and soothing. Kurt gives in, trusts him even though he still barely knows him, trusts that undeniable whole feeling, the lavish layered voltaic energy that’s been morphing between them, silky and alluring since they first laid eyes on each other.

He grabs Blaine’s hand and follows him to the closet. 

…..

“Seven minutes,” Santana reminds them, giving them a wink as she shuts the closet door.

The closet is small, stuffed with winter coats and boxes, just big enough to fit both Kurt and Blaine. It’s dimly lit by a dingy yellow light and there’s a smell of mold on the air, poignant and musky.

Kurt leans back against the wall. Blaine settles back against the opposite wall, the tips of his shoes touching Kurt’s.

A couple minutes pass in silence before they say anything.

“Your friends are intense,” Blaine comments.

“You’ve been engaged?” Kurt blurts out at the same time, aiming for casual, but it sounds strained. It slips out before Kurt can stop himself. He can’t help it, the thought is rushing through his brain, settling and hanging on the tip of his tongue. Blaine looks up at him, an unreadable look on his face.

“Not one of my finer ideas,” he says, his tone raw and honest, bitterness and very apparent hurt seeping through his voice.

“What happened?” Kurt asks, and he can see it in his eyes, the exact moment that Blaine backs away from the vulnerability, shuts inward and climbs behind his wall, pulling his hard shell over himself.

“Do I detect some jealousy, Hummel?” he masks the still detectable pain with humor.

“No,” Kurt responds, even though there’s a sharp flaming rod of emotion that shoots through this lower stomach when he thinks of all the things Blaine has probably done, how much older and experienced and exposed to things of the world, of relationships, of being with another man he is than Kurt. 

Someone has loved him. He’s loved someone.

He’s acutely aware of how young he is in that moment. How Blaine would never want someone like him when he’s already had so much more.

“I’m just trying to think of something to talk about. We have seven minutes in here,” he states.

“Well I know what we could be doing,” Blaine supplies, giving Kurt a wink and he has to be joking, Kurt thinks, as his pulse races and a blush crawls up his neck. There’s no way Blaine is saying he actually wants to kiss Kurt.

“You wish,” Kurt quips, ignoring the way he desperately wants to taste Blaine’s lips, to have Blaine kiss him, the intense draw he feels to move closer, to feel the weight of Blaine against him. 

Blaine laughs, gazing at Kurt as the silence returns for a moment.

“Why are you so cryptic?” Kurt says suddenly, because he can’t get rid of the itch under his skin.

“Excuse me?” Blaine laughs in surprise. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You put your finger down so you obviously wanted me to see it and say something” Kurt thinks aloud. “But you refused to talk about it when I asked you,” he continues, frustration rising in his voice. “It’s like you want me to know you but you won’t actually tell me anything,” he finishes.

Blaine looks taken aback.

“Why do you care so much?” he counters.

“Because Blaine! Something about you and your job just doesn’t add up to me!” Kurt yells and God, he doesn’t even know why he’s yelling. “I just don’t understand you. Why do you do it?”

“Why do I do what?” Blaine asks, his face twisted in confusion and alarm.

“Why do you dance? Like you’re worth nothing?” Kurt cries.

A dark look clouds over Blaine’s face.

“Geez, Kurt, is this an interrogation?” he snaps back. “I have my reasons, okay?” he looks away.

“But you’re so much better than that!” Kurt’s voice cracks and he can’t even explain why he’s getting emotional, just that he feels every emotion hitting him at full speed, all the confusion and perplexity of the situation overwhelming and consuming him.

Something in Blaine’s eyes soften, cool and settle and pull him back from the edge, reign in the wild Blaine that Kurt was provoking. He looks at Kurt, a sadness swimming in his eyes.

“I’m obviously not,” he says quietly. The silence between them is thick. Kurt wants to scream, to tell him that’s so far from the truth, but he can’t seem to find the words with Blaine’s self loathing hanging like a heavy blanket over them both. 

“Anything else you want to ask me in here?” Blaine says, and Kurt can’t tell if he means it seriously or as a spiteful jab.

“Actually, yes,” Kurt says, because a thought occurred to him. Blaine stares at him in mild amusement, obviously having meant it rhetorically.

“This is going to sound stupid,” Kurt says self consciously, suddenly embarrassed.

“Try me,” Blaine sighs tiredly.

“You are gay right?” Kurt asks tentatively. Yes, he met Blaine at a gay bar and he’s been flirting mercilessly with Kurt since they met, but he realizes it was never actually established if Blaine was gay and he doesn’t want to just assume.

Blaine stares at him for a moment before he bursts out in laughter.

“Yes, Kurt,” He says between breaths. “I’m about as straight as a fucking round-a-bout.”

Kurt smiles against his own will. It’s a foreign yet reassuring feeling, hearing someone talk about their sexuality, about Kurt’s sexuality, so comfortably. It feels like finding a home, a safe haven, comfortable and welcoming and warm.

“I’m sorry,” Kurt says after Blaine’s calmed down. Blaine nudges his shoe.

“Don’t worry about it,” He dismisses, which only makes Kurt feel worse. He didn’t mean to pick a fight or make Blaine upset.

Suddenly light floods the small space as the door opens. Kurt blinks rapidly at the invasion.

“Time’s up,” Santana cheers. Her face falls when she sees them several feet apart, their appearances intact and far from disheveled.

“Ugh, fuck you, Hummel,” she moans, sauntering off somewhere else.

Blaine watches him for a moment before he pushes himself off the wall and walks out of the closet.

…..

“Kurt, wake up,” Mercedes shakes him. Kurt’s eyes open slowly, the dark of his eyelids gradually receding.

“What?” he questions groggily, disoriented as he looks around the room, shadows of purple dancing across his vision. His head pounds.

“What happened?” he grumbles. Mercedes chuckles.

“You fell asleep,” she replies.

Kurt sits on a bean bag in the corner while the majority of the glee club, including Blaine, lay passed out in the middle of the room.

Kurt remembers watching Blaine walk away from the closet, crossing the room and getting a drink from Puck.

He had settled down on a bean bag in the corner in a fitful mess of emotions, tired and exhausted as he watched everyone become progressively more drunk, observing Blaine dancing and singing loudly in the middle of the room.

At some point, he fell asleep, the pulsing music and rhythmic pounding of the bass conjuring a painful headache as he slept. 

“Your boy got pretty wasted over there,” Mercedes’s gaze falls on Blaine and Kurt follows her eyes.

Blaine’s chest falls steadily, his expression calm and docile. All the bitter lines of his face are smoothed, sweet and childlike, long eyelashes fanning over his cheeks. 

Kurt sighs. “I guess I should take him home.”

“Who exactly is he?” Mercedes asks quietly and Kurt bites on his cheek.

“I’m trying to figure that out,” he answers, watching the small curls on Blaine’s hairline spring with every intake of breath. He doesn’t want to wake him up, to disturb his tranquility.

He gives Mercedes’s hand a squeeze and stands, smoothing down his rumpled shirt. He crosses the room and bends down, shaking Blaine’s shoulders gently.

“Blaine,” he calls quietly. Blaine curls in on himself, smacking his lips together.

“Blaine,” Kurt says again, a little louder, shaking and rubbing his shoulders. Blaine’s eyes crack open, tiny slits as he blinks very slowly.

“Where’s Kurt?” he mumbles, opening his eyes wider and looking around frantically until he spots Kurt above him. His face relaxes and he closes his eyes again, resting his head back on the floor.

“Hi Kurt,” he smiles, his eyes still closed. “I missed you,” he mumbles, his voice scratchy and filled with content.

Kurt’s heart stretches affectionately.

“Come on, Blaine,” he says, rubbing his shoulders more because he doesn’t have any other clue of what to do. “It’s time to go home.”

Blaine opens his eyes and sits up, immediately scrunching his face and losing his balance. Kurt catches him before he falls.

“Shit,” he breathes. “My head doesn’t feel good,” he presses his hands to his head.

“I’ll help you,” Kurt says, slinging an arm around his back. Blaine leans into him, holding onto his shoulders as he stands. His body slumps into Kurt’s once they’re standing.

He’s warm and heavy, his curls soft and frizzy where Kurt can feel them brushing against his chin. He smells heavenly, even with the tangy stench of alcohol ghosting off his breath.

“You’re warm,” he sighs as he nuzzles his face into Kurt’s neck. Kurt gasps a little when he feels Blaine’s warm, wet lips pressing against his skin.

“You’re quite an affectionate drunk, aren’t you?” Kurt smiles down at him, his heart swirling.

Blaine hums happily. Kurt places one of Blaine’s arms around his neck and grips his waist tighter, distributing Blaine’s weight as he balances him against him. He half walks, half drags Blaine towards the door, disentangling them slightly to grab their things.

They tread slowly down the driveway together. Kurt helps Blaine into the passenger seat and closes the door, crossing across the front to get in the driver's seat.

The moonlight is bright and beaming overhead, illuminating the inside of the car, casting them in a silvery light.

Kurt drives while Blaine hums along to the quiet radio, not even bothering to hide his smile at Blaine’s adorableness.

Suddenly Blaine sits up in his seat and leans towards Kurt.

“Your skin looks soft,” he remarks, his eyes wide as saucers, reflecting the moonlight. Kurt looks at him in surprise.

“Can I touch it?” he asks quietly, and the innocent tone of his voice would make Kurt laugh if he were asking anything else. He looks determined, mesmerized and serious and Kurt feels his heart leap.

“Um, sure,” Kurt replies, his breath skipping. What else is he supposed to say?

Blaine extends a shaky hand forward, calloused fingers brushing Kurt’s cheek until he fits his entire palm against Kurt’s face, caressing him. He drags his thumb slowly and carefully across Kurt’s skin.

Kurt’s mouth runs dry, his heart stuck in a lump in his throat. He didn’t realize this is what Blaine meant and he freezes, unsure of how to react to the unfamiliar touch. Before his mind can decide, his body intuitively leans further into his warm hand.

“Kurt,” Blaine says reverently. “You… you’re absolutely beautiful.”

Everything inside Kurt stills.

“You don’t know what you’re saying, Blaine,” he stutters out. “You’re drunk.”

“No,” Blaine shakes his head, pulling his hand back and settling into his seat. “No. I’ve seen a lot… something about you…” he trails off, lost in his thoughts.

Kurt has no idea what he means by “a lot.” His brain feels like mush, staticky and polluted with the sudden outpouring of affection towards him, melting his bones even though he’s positive Blaine’s only saying it because he’s drunk and Kurt’s there.

They drive in silence for a little while longer, Kurt’s pulse spasming rhythmically against his throat, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. Suddenly a gentle guitar riff starts on the radio, flowing sweetly into the car and Blaine sits up excitedly, reaching to turn the volume louder.

“I love this song!” He grins. “I used to sing this with Carl,” he says, looking dreamily out the window.

Kurt glances at him curiously. He wants to ask if Carl is the man he was engaged to, but it feels wrong to take advantage of Blaine’s lowered inhibitions, of his lenient spilling mouth that wouldn’t confess this to Kurt willingly in sobriety.

“Carl is my Dad,” Blaine continues, answering for Kurt. “But I don’t call him Dad because he left when I said I was gay,” he explains, as if he were discussing the weather. Kurt glances at him again, a sad sinking feeling settling in his chest, his heart yearning for Blaine. 

Blaine laughs suddenly, too loud for the quiet car.

“That’s funny, isn’t it Kurt?” he asks, looking at Kurt. Kurt gives him a sad smile.

“It’s actually really sad, Blaine,” he says quietly.

“Oh,” Blaine whispers, a confused and disappointed look on his face, as if he’s just missed a question on a test.

He shuffles forward again, pulling back the curls that fall over his forehead and presenting his hairline to Kurt.

“Look,” he says and Kurt slows the car down a little so he can look where Blaine’s pointing. A thick pink scar stretches across Blaine’s forehead, about an inch and a half long before it ascends and disappears into his hair. 

“What happened?” Kurt asks.

“Carl,” Blaine says simply. Kurt feels sick to his stomach suddenly.

“Your Dad did that to you?” He asks in shock. Blaine nods, resting back against his chair and humming along to the song as Kurt continues to drive.

Kurt’s chest feels heavy and burdened with what Blaine’s just told him, what Blaine probably doesn’t even realize he just revealed.

“Hey, Kurt,” Blaine says after a little while and Kurt sighs, wondering what bombshell Blaine’s going to drop on him this time.

“Yes, Blaine?” he answers.

“You should kiss me,” he says, and Kurt looks over in surprise to find him completely serious.

“What? No, Blaine,” Kurt responds. His blood tingles with the insinuation behind Blaine’s words, but the larger, more practical part of himself takes over.

His first kiss will not be with someone who’s drunk.

“Why not?” Blaine’s voice is sad and his face resembles a puppy dog that’s just been kicked, Kurt thinks. Kurt can’t help but imagine that this is what Blaine is truly like, underneath all the damage and the protection, and it makes him smile.

“Because you’re drunk and we still don’t know each other that well,” Kurt answers honestly, though he doubts Blaine understands.

“Oh,” Blaine says again quietly, staring at his lap. “Your…” he stops for a minute, his eyebrows furrowed. “What’s that word, like the way… the way you think…”

“Logic?” Kurt offers and Blaine’s eyes light up.

“Yes! Logic!” he looks at Kurt. “Your logic sucks, Kurt,” he declares and Kurt laughs loudly. A smile spreads across Blaine’s face like he’s just won the lottery. 

Kurt pulls into the driveway, silencing the rumbling engine and pulling his keys out of the ignition. Blaine’s head is lulling back and forth, nodding off into sleep, his eyelids drooping closed.

Kurt helps him out of the car and up the driveway. Blaine’s head rests against his shoulder as he unlocks the door.

Kurt turns to lead Blaine toward the guest bedroom, but Blaine pulls on him.

“Your room,” he says sleepily, tugging on Kurt’s jacket.

“Blaine, come on,” Kurt tries, but Blaine tugs harder, looking close to tears.

“Your room, please,” he whines. “The guest room is so… so cold,” he rambles and Kurt sighs. He doesn’t have enough energy to battle Blaine to his bed.

“Fine,” He sighs. 

Blaine passes out as soon Kurt lays him down in his bed, placing the covers over him. He stares at the bed for a minute before laying out some blankets and pillows on the floor beside the bed, making a makeshift bed.

Kurt’s never shared a bed with another boy in his life. There’s no way he feels comfortable doing that now, no matter how tempting and soft his bed looks, how cozy and pleasant the thought of sleeping next to Blaine’s warm weight sounds.

He attempts an exhausted, minimal effort skin care routine before settling down on the uncomfortable floor.

He gazes up at the ceiling, the night charging through his mind.

Pieces and clues of Blaine float around in his brain, loosely connected yet there’s still so much missing, so much that Kurt doesn’t understand.

He’s hanging by a thread, dangling off a cliff and when he gazes up at Blaine in his bed he feels the rope snap, his body flinging forward, and he’s falling, plummeting and descending and then suddenly;

He’s flying. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s part two of chapter 3, which I guess is now technically chapter 4. The title of the chapter and song that Blaine is referring to at the end is Tracy Chapman’s “Fast Car.” What’d you think? Did you like it? Comments and Kudos are always appreciated. Thank you all!


	5. Purple Stained Hearts

The first thing Blaine registers is a sweet vanilla smell, strong and thick and divine, mixed with an earthy undefinable masculine smell, warm and homey.

It’s enveloping him, wrapping him in a soft, cozy, cocoon of warmth and comfort. He burrows down into it subconsciously, snuggles deeper into it’s silkiness.

His foggy brain struggles to grasp recognition, chasing aimlessly after a thought because he knows this smell. He’s smelled it before, though he can’t place exactly where.

His eyes blink open slowly, the mud clouding his brain gradually becoming thinner as he realizes it smells like Kurt, like the delicious whisper of a scent Blaine gets every time he walks by him.

Except it’s everywhere, all around him, soft and fuzzy. His eyes open wider when he perceives the softness as satin sheets brushing smoothly against his skin. He observes his surroundings steadily, his eyebrows furrowed in puzzlement until suddenly, everything clicks into place at lightning speed.

He’s in Kurt’s bed.

He’s in Kurt’s bed and he has no idea how he got here.

Blaine’s body shoots up in an instant and Jesus fucking Christ, his head throbs. A hammering beat pulsates through his skull and he falls back into the soft pillows immediately, screwing his eyes shut in pain.

He tries to remember what happened but the last thing his memory draws in clarity is walking away from the closet after his seven minutes with Kurt. The rest is a giant indistinguishable blur, fading from bleary colors to eventual darkness. He doesn’t even remember leaving the party.

His eyes open in panic when the thought flutters into his brain;

If he’s in Kurt’s bed, then where the hell is Kurt?

He sits up slowly this time, pressing his hands to his head as he looks around the room, his eyes shooting sharp jolts of pain through his head every time he moves them to look somewhere new.

Small beams of bright light filter through the cracks in the closed blinds and Blaine figures it must be about midday. He’s the only one in the bed, in the whole room.

A sick feeling begins to twist low in the bottom of his stomach. Blaine knows he’s a lightweight when it comes to drinking. He’s also aware that he generally has no filter… and can tend to get affectionate. That, combined with the fact that he can’t remember a single thing, makes him slightly nauseous as he wonders what exactly happened between him and Kurt last night, what he might have done or said to Kurt.

Oh, God. 

He didn’t force Kurt to do anything with him, did he? How else would he end up in his bed?

He wouldn’t put it past himself to be so disgusting and twisted. Kurt doesn’t deserve that.

On the floor beside the bed he spots a crumpled nest of blankets and pillows, long enough for a body to be stretched out fully upon. His head pounds harder in confusion.

He stands slowly, steadying himself on the bedside table. He stumbles over to the staircase and grips the handrail tightly, beginning the slow trek up the stairs, hoping Kurt will be somewhere else in the house.

Blaine discovers him sitting on the couch in the living room, reading a magazine. He looks flawlessly put together, his warm brown hair perfectly styled and his creamy pale skin glowing in the light of the window, which Blaine finds a little unfair considering he himself probably looks like death punched him in the face. His jaw is sharp and defined from the angle he’s reading at, his rosy lips sitting in a content smile. Blaine feels his heart flip over when he lays eyes on him.

Kurt flicks his blue eyes up almost immediately when Blaine enters the room and Blaine has to physically restrain a groan when his lips spread into an amused smile.

“He lives,” Kurt snarkily cheers, shaking one hand back and forth in a small jazz hands motion. Blaine mumbles something incoherent under his breath and collapses face first onto the long section of the couch.

“I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck,” he grumbles, his voice muffled by the cushions. Kurt gives a small melodious chuckle that floats like warm water into Blaine’s ears.

“You look it, too,” he replies and Blaine twists his head to the side to glare up at him. He can’t stop the small smile that finds its way to his mouth, however. It happens instinctively everytime he gets a further glimpse into just how sassy and sarcastic Kurt truly is, underneath all that flustered nervousness Blaine was first met with.

“What the hell happened?” he asks wearily. Kurt looks down at him with sympathetic eyes, his face handsome even from the angle Blaine’s gazing up at.

“You got drunk,” he answers amusedly with his eyebrow quirked, addressing Blaine as if he’s a small child. Blaine rolls his eyes.

“What a beautifully in depth and sufficient explanation. Would you like a trophy for that one, Kurt?” he shoots back and Kurt kicks him gently in the side.

“I mean… why was I in your bed?” Blaine asks quietly, bracing himself for Kurt’s answer. He hopes on everything good that he didn’t say anything too vulgar or pressure Kurt into doing anything. He’s not sure he could live with himself if he did. Something about doing that around Kurt, doing that to Kurt, makes him feel deep self loathing and shame, deeper than he already feels, makes him feel filthy, like he’s vandalizing a precious piece of artwork.

Kurt smiles again. “Because the guest room is ‘so cold’,” he mimics a whiny deep voice that Blaine can only assume is meant to be his, while raising his hands to make air quotations. Blaine groans in embarrassment.

“Did I seriously say that?” 

Kurt snickers as he nods and Blaine wonders what else involuntarily spilled from his brain and right off his tongue, into Kurt’s waiting ears.

“Where did you sleep?” he questions.

“On the floor,” Kurt shrugs and Blaine sits up, feeling a coat of guilt wrap around his body.

“You slept on those blankets and pillows?” he asks in disbelief. “All night?”

Kurt nods slowly, like he doesn’t understand why Blaine cares where he slept. Blaine feels like a jerk for kicking Kurt out of his own bed, for making him sleep on the hard ground and he’s still a little shocked that Kurt gave up his bed, that he slept on the floor for Blaine. God, Blaine must have been intolerable last night.

Apparently the shock is evident on his face because Kurt breaks the silence.

“It wasn’t that bad, Blaine,” he laughs a little. Blaine gives a quiet hum because he can tell by Kurt’s face that he’s not being entirely truthful and Blaine feels too stupid and embarrassed to say anything more.

“Well you weren’t that bad,” Kurt corrects. “Sleeping on the floor on the other hand…” He trails off and Blaine runs a stressed hand through his curls.

“God, I’m sorry, Kurt,” Blaine apologizes and Kurt looks at him again in confusion.

“Blaine, it’s alright,” he dismisses, and Blaine wonders just how often he shrugs off his discomfort for others, how many times he puts himself last.

“Why didn’t you sleep up here on the couch?”

“In case you needed something,” Kurt answers, and it’s such a simple and unknowingly kind response that it makes Blaine’s heart still for a moment, leaves him at a loss for words as he stares at the incredibly caring and beautiful boy in front of him. The boy who cared for Blaine last night when it was the last thing he deserved.

“So… I didn’t… or we didn’t, you know… do anything?” Blaine stammers awkwardly and Kurt stares blankly at him for a moment before he understands what Blaine’s saying and his face flushes red.

“Oh, oh,” he stutters. “Um, no. We didn’t,” relief floods Blaine’s body at his words. “Well,” he stares down at his hands. “You did ask me to kiss you,” he says quietly and there’s a tiny flash of a smile at his lips, so fast Blaine wonders if he imagined it.

“I did?” Blaine feels the dread pulling at his stomach as he watches Kurt’s lips, rosy and damp from where he subconsciously licks them, the sight of his pink tongue darting out between his lips going straight to Blaine’s heart and… other, lower areas.

He wants to kiss Kurt desperately, to taste those sweet lips, to feel Kurt under his tongue and against his mouth. He’s wanted to kiss him since the moment they first laid eyes on each other at the club but he realizes, as he watches Kurt sitting in front of him, so pretty and graceful, that it has to be the right moment, a perfect moment, nothing less than what Kurt deserves and everything Blaine is entirely aware he’s not worthy of. Not with someone as untouched and virtuous as Kurt. Not by someone as fucked up and hollow as himself.

“But I didn’t,” Kurt clarifies.

“Thank God,” Blaine mutters quietly in relief and a hurt expression flashes across Kurt’s face before Blaine realizes how horrible what he just said sounded.

“No, no, Kurt,” Kurt curls in on himself slightly as Blaine stammers rapidly because what Kurt’s probably thinking couldn’t be further from the truth. “No, no, God Kurt, that came out wrong,” he corrects frantically. He pauses for a moment, trying to think of how to phrase his thoughts.

“I would hate myself forever if I made you do something like that, against your will,” he confesses quietly. There’s also the fact that he would hate himself for not being able to remember the kiss, but he’s not sure he should share that with Kurt.

Kurt looks back at him, searching with his heavenly blue eyes like Blaine’s noticed he does when he’s trying to tell if Blaine’s being honest. Blaine gazes back at him openly and he feels it, the first stone, the first step being laid down in a slow building bridge of trust forming between them.

Kurt looks slightly bewildered as he breaks eye contact and stands up.

“Well,” he says brightly. He walks over to the kitchen and Blaine watches the swift way he walks, the sway of hips. He wonders if Kurt even knows how captivating he is.

Kurt returns with a glass of water and two pills.

“This is for you,” he hands them to Blaine, their warm palms brushing together as he turns the pills over into Blaine’s hand. “I’ve never had a hangover but I know this helps,” he says. Blaine’s heart skips a fraction of a beat. He can’t remember the last time he met someone this genuinely kindhearted, someone who cared for him like this.

“Thank you,” Blaine says, smiling. He looks at him questionably. “You’ve never had a hangover?” he asks doubtfully as he sips the water.

“I don’t drink,” Kurt says simply and Blaine gazes up at him, entirely embarrassed by how mesmerized he probably looks.

“Why not?”

Kurt gestures down to him. “Exhibit A,” he says cheekily and Blaine scoffs, taking another sip of his water, his lips curled into a smile over the edge of the glass.

“Whatever Hummel,” he says, winking up at him and watching that look, that flustered, bashful look that graces Kurt’s face every time Blaine flirts with him, like he can’t believe someone is paying attention to him.

Blaine’s finding that he quite likes that look on Kurt’s beautiful face.

……

By the time Blaine takes a shower and eats a mixture of breakfast and lunch, it’s already time for him to leave for work.

He’s still incredibly groggy as he slides into the front seat of his truck, cursing himself for being so reckless on a night where he knew he had to work the next day. His movements are sloppy, tired and achy as he begins the long drive.

He tries to reason why he even got so drunk in the first place.

He can’t explain exactly why he put his finger down in the game when he could’ve easily lied, when he could’ve pretended none of that existed instead of reopening those wounds so carelessly. Nobody there knew anything about him.

All he remembers is seeing it as an opportunity, an opportunity to tell Kurt something about his past, about the broken person he is, without having to bring it up himself, without having to be too vulnerable and suddenly he was overwhelmed with the urge to let him in, to have Kurt see a part of him he hated, a part he didn’t even want to acknowledge himself, a part that maybe Kurt could touch with his brilliant hands and turn into something new, something beautiful and pure.

And Kurt was right, he wanted him to ask. But Blaine is still such a coward, so weak and pathetic on the inside and when Kurt asked he couldn’t answer. He had to hide, to back up and retract.

And then Kurt called him out on it, pointed out exactly what Blaine already knew he was doing and he had nowhere to hide except further into his defenses.

And suddenly Kurt was going off, telling him he was worth more than his job and Blaine didn’t even know where the hell his words were coming from or why he cared or how someone as incredible as Kurt could be telling him he was worth something when Blaine knows so clearly he isn’t.

It seemed the obvious option as he left the closet, to forget the confusing emotions and give into the numbing blissful buzz of the alcohol.

Eventually, Blaine pulls into the parking lot of the club, sighing dejectedly as he takes his keys out of the ignition and heads towards the rusted back entrance that mocks him like the gates of hell.

The club is clouded and hazy around him, making his already shaken mind slosh and buzz around in his skull. He heads to the back and changes tiredly, the warm air heavy against his bare skin.

“Rough night with the missus?” Joe sneers, peeking his head into Blaine’s dressing room. Blaine grits his teeth together as he laces up his boots.

“For the love of God, Joe, please go fuck yourself,” Blaine replies, moving to the mirror. Joe watches Blaine as he applies his eyeliner.

“How about you let me fuck you, Anderson? Then maybe you’d stop being so goddamn uptight all the time.”

“Joe, kindly get out of my dressing room before I shove the heel of my boot up your ass,” Blaine says in a sweet voice.

“Sounds like fun.”

Blaine’s throat bobs with how much effort it takes to restrain from launching himself at Joe. He doesn’t have the energy to deal with this today.

“Of course it sounds like fun to you,” He says calmly as he grabs his lipstick. “We all know you’re not getting it anywhere else.”

Joe gives him the finger as he slams the curtains shut and Blaine smiles triumphantly to himself.

The night passes in a blur for Blaine as he dances. He barely registers what’s happening around him as his mind wanders again and again to Kurt, his beautiful blue eyed angel he saw in this very crowd.

Except now, Blaine knows who he is, knows where he is. He’s at home, the home Blaine will return to, where they’re staying together currently and it makes his limbs feel a million times heavier as he moves them, his heart aching and twisting with the need to leave this place, to chase after Kurt’s radiance, the comfort of Kurt’s home, of Kurt’s presence.

Adrenaline courses through his body after his performance but it’s a different kind of adrenaline, a new kind of adrenaline, one filled with the sheer relief of being done for the night and the dread at eventually having to come back, at being tied to this disgusting place.

A place where someone as worthless as himself belongs.

He’s on his way to say hello to Leo after his performance when a strong hand grips his arm forcefully and pulls him to the side.

“Someone has requested you in a room,” Marcus’s face is sweaty and beet red, a drop of warm spit flinging from his mouth and landing on Blaine’s face. Blaine shudders in his grasp.

“I told you when I started here,” Blaine tries to speak as evenly as he can. “I don’t do private rooms,” he says firmly. Marcus growls and pulls him closer.

“You think I give a damn what you said?” he snarls into Blaine’s ear. “You said that before you became a filthy little slut, Blaine. The fact of the matter is, you’re on a thin line with me. All you’ve done since you got here is take time off from work, show up late, and talk back to me. And yet I’ve kept your sorry ass around. Ask me why, Blaine,” he commands and Blaine holds his breath. Marcus’s grip tightens around his arm.

“I said, ask me why Blaine!” He yells and Blaine closes his eyes, swallowing heavily.

“Why?” 

“Because I need whores like you,” Marcus spits. “And you know what else? You need this job,” He laughs cruelly when Blaine shuts his eyes tighter. “Yeah, that’s right. You need this job. So, you’re going to do what I say. You’re going to go back there and give the gentleman who’s waiting patiently a private show. And you’re going to do it like the little bitch that you are,” he releases Blaine roughly, pushing him as he walks away.

Blaine stands in the middle of the hallway in complete shock. He feels a thick lump growing in his throat, twisting around his mouth painfully and forcing a quiet mangled sob from his lips. Two hot tears fall from his eyes, snake their way down his cheeks before he wipes them away quickly.

He gathers the small broken shards that are left of himself and sweep them into a pile. They rip through his tender skin, tear the flesh of his palms as he tosses them carelessly to the wind, watching the last remaining ashes of his self worth flutter away with them.

…..

Despite having the experience of what feels like infinite nights dancing in practically nothing for complete strangers, Blaine finds himself nervous.

He’s never done a private show before.

The room is small when he enters it, dark black walls with velvety red curtains hanging over them. In the center of the room sits a plush love seat, just big enough for two people.

A tall lanky man sits lazily back into the cushions, a smirk on his long pointed face. He has light brown hair and narrow green eyes that peer up at Blaine flirtatiously. He whistles loudly as Blaine walks in the door.

“Hello gorgeous,” he says in a smooth liquefied voice that melts right off his tongue. Blaine says nothing, just turns to the iPod dock in the corner of the room and searches for a song.

“How many songs did you pay for?” he asks and God, he’s already terrible at this but he’s barely holding himself together tonight.

“Just one,” the man smirks. “I’ll pay for more after I decide if you’re worth it,” he says condescendingly, his eyes raking up and down Blaine’s body. Blaine closes his eyes and breathes steadily, wills himself to control his emotions and slip back into his stripper persona.

He can do this. It’s only one song.

He chooses a song, a slow raunchy electric guitar melody filling the room as he turns around to the man. His green eyes are blown with lust and Blaine lets it fill him, consume him and fuel him and rewire his brain. 

He wastes no time, straddling the man immediately and rolling his hips slowly in his lap to the slow seductive beat. He runs his hands up and down his scorching skin, gazing down at the man as he tweaks his nipple and bites on his lower lip.

The music continues, the beat picking up as Blaine turns around, straddles him backwards and grinds his ass down into the man’s crotch where he can feel his hardening erection. He places his hands on the floor and sticks his ass higher in the air, shaking his hips back and forth and bouncing his cheeks in the mans face.

Every roll of his hips causes bile to rise in his throat, makes him despise himself more. But he continues, pushes on because he doesn’t have a choice, because this is what he’s good for. 

He crawls forward slowly, away from them man, and then he turns back around on his knees to face him. He spreads the man’s legs with his palms and raises himself between his thighs, the air hot and suffocating between them, tingling down Blaine’s skin and making him dizzy. The man’s chest heaves, his mouth hung open as he runs his hands through Blaine’s hair.

Blaine feels his discomfort begin to grow as the man’s hands start to wander, up Blaine’s arms and down his chest. He swallows it, ignores the antsy nauseous feeling crawling in his stomach because he’s been paid to do this. This is his fucking job. The point is for him to be used.

The fervent beat of the music plays through the room as Blaine turns around and bounces in his lap again. Suddenly, Blaine feels two slender hands cup around his ass and squeeze him roughly.

He gasps forward, launching himself off the man’s lap. The man gives him a challenging look as Blaine’s heart beats rapidly in his chest. It’s completely unjustified, shameful, embarrassing even that he feels violated.

He’s the one who’s turned his body into a worthless expanse, open and free for the taking. He has no right to feel exploited. It’s what he deserves.

He looks between the man and the iPod dock, seeing that there’s only thirty seconds left, and decides to persevere to the end of the dance. He can’t risk making Marcus more upset.

Blaine sits tentatively back down onto his lap and rolls his hips for a few more seconds, too nervous and dazed to do much else, the room spinning around him. 

Just when Blaine thinks the song is about to end, the man grabs Blaine’s completely flaccid cock with one hand and pulls his neck down harshly with the other, crashing his lips roughly against Blaine’s.

Blaine freezes. An aggrieved memory swims back to him… rough hands, biting lips, harsh pounding against his sore, throbbing, abused flesh. 

His first night with Michael.

It’s too much. He cries out against the man’s lips. 

“Oh my god,” he yelps, struggling out of his grasp and moving frantically towards the exit. He throws open the door and yells into the hallway.

“Security!” he calls hysterically. “Security!”

Two burly men run up to him and Blaine stutters nonsense, flustered and out of breath, gesturing into the room.

“The man…” He gasps. “In there.”

They move past him into the room and before Blaine can do anything else, before he can process one more thing, he regains control of his legs and runs down the crowded hallway, grabbing his keys from his dressing room.

He sprints out the back door and into the freezing cold night, climbing into his truck in nothing but his thong and boots. He jams the key into the ignition and pulls out of the parking lot in record speed.

If he didn’t feel so numb, so disconnected and empty and void inside, he would’ve sobbed the entire drive back to Kurt’s house.

…..

It’s around three in the morning when Blaine pulls up to the Hummel’s house.

He unlocks the front door quietly with the spare key they’ve given him to use and slips inside, about to head to the guest room when he catches a dim light cast upon the floor, coming from the living room.

He walks slowly and carefully towards the end of the hallway, peeking around the wall to stare into the room.

A single lamp on the table illuminates Kurt sitting on the end of the couch, sewing something together in his hands and humming along to the music playing in his earbuds. Blaine feels a little bit of the dust that dirties his cracked heart lift and float away at the sight of him, his angelic face silhouetted against the light.

Blaine observes him for a moment, how graceful and effortless everything he does is even when he thinks nobody is watching. His quiet hum is gorgeous, his voice high and perfectly pitched. Blaine can tell by the tune that he’s listening to Beyonce and after such a terrible night, it’s almost enough to rouse a smile out of him.

He watches him until he decides it’s fairly creepy to lurk around the corner, so he steps out from behind the wall and into the room.

It takes a few moments for Kurt to notice him, his blue eyes eventually looking up and his body jumping slightly. He pulls his earbuds out.

“Hi,” he says with wide eyes and only then does Blaine remember he’s wearing nothing but his godforsaken thong, standing in the middle of Kurt’s living room nearly completely naked for Kurt to look at.

It’s not like Kurt hasn’t seen this before, but never in such a quiet intimate setting and never at this hour of the morning.

“Hi,” Blaine replies, a little self conscious of his exposed body, which seems absolutely ridiculous after everything that’s happened. “Why are you awake?” Blaine asks.

Kurt studies him for a moment with those clever eyes, as if he can already tell something is wrong. His face flushes pink.

“Um, it sounds stupid now that I say it,” he chuckles nervously and Blaine looks at him expectantly, no humor on his face. Kurt looks slightly taken aback by his sullen expression. “I was waiting for you,” he says, embarrassed. Blaine looks at him in confusion.

“You know, in case you wanted company or something,” he rambles. “Because I figured your job can get lonely… a-and hard…” he stutters as Blaine stands completely still, even though his heart is melting warmly inside his body. “It’s stupid, I don’t know why I did it,” he looks away quickly and then back at Blaine. “I didn’t realize you come home in your outfit.”

“I don’t usually,” Blaine finally responds, his voice flat.

“Are you alright?” Kurt furrows his eyebrows at him and every emotion from the night catches up with Blaine, pummels into him at once.

“Do I look like I’m alright?” he snaps, immediately hating himself for the small look of fear that runs across Kurt’s face.

“Did something happen?” Kurt asks in concern.

“Something always happens, Kurt, it’s a strip club,” Blaine answers coldly and he hates himself, wants to beat himself into the floor for talking to Kurt like this but he doesn’t know how to stop it, how to face any hard conversation without getting angry, without sinking into his bitter self.

“Well, why don’t you quit if you hate it so much?” Kurt offers, his voice a little firmer and Blaine can tell his defenses are rising, too.

If there’s one thing Blaine’s learned in the last few days he’s spent with Kurt, it’s that he can be as stubborn as a mule.

“Are we going to do this again, Kurt? Right now? At three in the morning?” Blaine yells at him and Kurt stands up, narrowing his eyes at him.

“Don’t you take this out on me, Blaine Anderson,” he says firmly and Blaine wants to fall to his knees, beg for Kurt’s forgiveness and apologize to no end, but he’s too far gone to stop. He stands his ground. “It’s not my fault you’re slaving away there,” Kurt says.

“God, Kurt!” Blaine cries. “You don’t even know what you’re saying! You have no idea why I do what I do.”

“Then help me understand,” Kurt pleads. 

“Why is it even your place?” Blaine shouts, because he’s still entirely confused as to why Kurt cares so passionately. “What gives you the right to judge me for my life choices? To tell me what I should and shouldn’t do?”

“I just don’t understand why you do this to yourself every night!” Kurt yells back and Blaine has nowhere to go, nothing to hide behind as Kurt brings every thought Blaine already has running around in the back of his mind to the front of his brain, makes him stare and evaluate himself head on.

“Do you do this because of your ex fiance?” Kurt barrels on and Blaine wants to shut his eyes, to plug his ears and sing because Kurt’s forcing him to think, forcing him to uncover all the emotions and wounds he purposely avoids. “Do you do this because of Carl?” he says and then he stops abruptly. 

The name sounds like a gunshot in the room, plunging straight into Blaine’s heart. Kurt’s eyes fill wide with horror as Blaine stares at him, completely unable to speak.

“How the hell,” he whispers when he finally finds his voice. “Do you know about Carl?”

The room is deathly quiet. Blaine can hear Kurt’s labored breathing.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes quickly. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that, you said it last night and I should’ve told you you said it, or not said anything…” he rambles anxiously, wringing his hands. Blaine wonders exactly how much he told Kurt, but that’s not really the main focus on his mind right now. 

Anger seethes under Blaine’s skin, and it’s not anger at Kurt. He’s angry at the memory of his Dad, angry and disappointed at the horrible person he’s become, the one Kurt is forcing him to look at, angry that his heart was shattered so violently, angry at how much the world has wronged him and angry the most at how he’s let it define his life, how he’s taken it and become everything he detests.

The anger swirls up inside him, grips a hold of his emotions, his heart, his tongue, and weaves its way into the words that drip from his mouth.

“I slip up and say a few things while I’m drunk and you think you have my whole life figured out,” Blaine says quietly and Kurt stares back at him, blue eyes as wide as saucers. “But you don’t know anything. You’re just a kid,” he says and instantly, almost immediately, he’s filled with a sharp stab of regret.

Kurt doesn’t let his face fall, even though Blaine can see tears pooling at the corner of his eyes and he loathes that, despises that he did that to Kurt, that he hurt him like that.

But that’s just who Blaine Anderson is. Damaged, explosive, and dangerous.

“I may be just a kid,” Kurt responds calmly, never lowering his gaze from Blaine’s. “But at least I respect myself.”

The words are heavy in the air as they drift over to Blaine and puncture him. They’re not crude, they’re not mean, they’re not even angry.

They’re truthful. 

They’re honest.

And it breaks Blaine in two.

Everything inside him shatters, flowing out of him in thick sobs as he finally bursts into tears.

He doesn’t feel void or empty around Kurt. When he’s around Kurt, he feels too much.

Blaine’s shoulders shake as he sobs, tears falling fast from his eyes and his breath catching between gasps. Kurt stares at him in complete shock.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, Kurt crosses the room and wraps his arms around Blaine gently, pulling him into a firm and comforting hug. Blaine’s arms snake around his thin waist as he clings to him, burying his face into Kurt’s soft sweet smelling neck.

“Shh,” Kurt soothes as Blaine sobs into his shoulder, running his hands up and down the bare skin of Blaine’s back, occasionally bringing his hands up to thread calmly through Blaine’s curls. The touch is so relieving, so intimate and caring, so gentle that Blaine feels his body unwind, all his anger, all his fears, all his disappointments crumbling away. 

Blaine tucks his chin over Kurt’s shoulder as his tears slow, clutching his torso tighter. Kurt rests his cheek against Blaine’s hair, and suddenly, Blaine feels it, the tiniest, gentlest press of soft lips against his temple, quick and warm.

It sends a flutter, a jolt, something beautifully pleasing and heart warming down Blaine’s body.

He takes a moment to register to the feeling of being held in Kurt’s arms, of holding Kurt in his arms, their bodies pressed tightly against each other. He thinks it should probably feel weird given the circumstances, should feel invasive after knowing Kurt for only a few days but all it feels is so irrevocably right.

Like it’s his home.

“Are you okay?” Kurt eventually whispers into his hair. Blaine nods, because everything is messed up but he is, he’s okay right here in Kurt’s embrace.

“Yeah,” he sniffles. “I can’t let go though because I still have my makeup on and I probably look like a raccoon now,” he jokes and Kurt laughs, the movement vibrating against Blaine’s body.

“That’s why you can’t let go?” Kurt teases, and Blaine can hear the smile in his voice.

“Yeah,” Blaine sighs contentedly. Kurt pulls back slightly and Blaine looks up at him with watery eyes. Kurt stares down at him, his eyes gentle before his lips break into a grin.

“You only look slightly like a raccoon,” he smirks and Blaine pokes his side, surprised again by how normal this playfulness seems between them, how comfortable he’s felt around Kurt since the beginning.

It’s the only place where he remembers who he truly is. Where he feels confident enough to be himself again.

Kurt squeals when Blaine’s finger touches his side and Blaine looks at him in surprise.

“Are we ticklish?” he asks, his lips lifting into a smile. Kurt’s eyes fill with mischief. 

“No,” he shrieks, running away from Blaine and down the stairs to his room, giggling.

Blaine stands transfixed, his lips stuck in an open smile, completely charmed. Kurt returns a moment later.

“Here,” he holds his hand out to Blaine, offering him a makeup wipe. Blaine keeps his gaze on Kurt’s crystal blue eyes as he takes the wipe, beautiful and sparkling in the dim light of the room.

“Goodnight, Blaine,” Kurt says softly and Blaine aches to pull him in for a kiss.

Instead he hugs him again, just for a breath.

“Goodnight,” he says as he pulls back. Kurt’s hand lingers on his arm for a moment before he gives Blaine a small smile and turns to leave.

“Kurt,” Blaine calls and Kurt looks back at him over his shoulder.

“Thank you,” Blaine says sincerely, and those two words do little to truly convey everything Blaine is feeling. But it’s a start. 

“For everything,” he adds and Kurt shoots him a beatific smile, his face practically glowing.

“You’re welcome.”

…..

Blaine’s head hits his pillow completely and utterly exhausted. 

He sleeps well past morning, past lunchtime and into the early afternoon. When he awakes, he finally feels fully rested after a tiring couple of days.

He takes a long soothing shower, letting the water cascade down around him, cleanse and refresh his aching body, untangle the mess of uncertainty that sits in the pit of his chest.

His mind circles around and around, occasionally landing on the memory of the man groping him, making his stomach lurch. He knows he should deal with it, but it’s so much easier to shove it away, to bury it where he doesn’t have to address it.

He doesn’t know what will happen when he returns to work in a few nights. He doesn’t even know if he still has a job after running out so quickly.

He doesn’t know what will occur when their parents come home from their trip, only that something inevitably will. 

The only thing that is certain to him, that feels right in his bones, the only anchor in his life, is Kurt.

Their conversation was cut short the previous night due to Blaine’s outburst, but Blaine knows it isn’t finished. He owes Kurt an apology, and he needs, he wants, to give him an explanation.

He’s not sure how to bring it up again. He’s not sure if he can summon the courage.

Crying in Kurt’s arms released something inside him, unfurled a heavy burden that had been coiled tight and he yearns to let Kurt in deeper. Kurt’s consistent pestering about his job reveals one thing to him, one wild foreign realization that Blaine doesn’t understand, can’t comprehend.

Kurt cares.

He towels his hair and dresses carefully, picking out his nicest polo shirt and his favorite pair of jeans.

When he’s done, he wanders through the house to find Kurt. After finding the living room and kitchen empty, he concludes he must be in his room.

He walks down the stairs and knocks on his door.

“Kurt?” 

Blaine can hear shuffling around and then the door opens, revealing a bright eyed and smiling Kurt. Blaine’s breath catches.

“Hi,” Kurt smiles.

“Hi,” Blaine smiles back, Kurt’s happiness infecting him contagiously. “What are you doing?”

Kurt shrugs. “Oh, nothing,” he says casually and God, he really is the worst liar Blaine has ever met. “What’s up?” he asks.

Blaine’s heart beats rapidly just from staring at his electric blue eyes, positively stunning this close to his face. He forgets everything he was planning to say.

“Oh, um,” he stammers, eyes raking over the perfect line of Kurt’s slender nose. “Do you have anything going on today?”

It’s a Sunday, so he’s not surprised when Kurt shakes his head.

“Well, uh,” Blaine stutters, the breath snatched from his lungs. “I’m not working tonight,” he explains. “Do you maybe… want to go get coffee or something?” he stares down at his hands, nerves dancing like butterflies in his stomach for some inexplicable reason.

“Blaine Anderson,” Kurt drawls and Blaine looks back up at him. There’s a sly smile on Kurt’s lips. “Are you asking me on a date?”

Blaine can’t tell if he’s making a joke or being serious. He hadn’t exactly meant for it to be a date, though he wouldn’t be opposed to calling it that if Kurt wanted. He’s not sure how to respond, fearful if he says yes it’ll scare Kurt off.

“Do you want it to be a date?” he asks curiously and Kurt’s eyes widen a little. He watches Blaine for a moment before he speaks.

“I think it will be a fun outing as two potential step brothers,” he smirks and Blaine groans.

“Please don’t say that again,” he laughs and Kurt chuckles. A beat passes as he gazes at Kurt.

“A fun outing as friends?” Blaine offers.

Kurt’s eyes give a twinkle.

“Then yes,” he agrees. “I’d love to. Just let me finish getting ready,” he says, though he already looks perfectly put together to Blaine.

“Okay,” Blaine nods. He pauses.

“Bring a jacket,” he says suddenly. Kurt furrows his eyebrows at him.

“It’s not that cold yet..”

“Just trust me,” Blaine cuts him off, and the words aren’t meant to be anything more than playful banter but it weighs deep and solid between them, the implication behind it boundless.

Kurt studies Blaine. Always searching.

“Okay.”

 

….. 

Blaine begins to question his idea slightly after they spend the entire car ride to the coffee shop in silence.

The air between them is thin and awkward. Their embrace in the living room sits differently in broad daylight as opposed to their sleep deprived minds at dawn. Suddenly it seems bigger, deeper, like a promise of something more that neither of them are sure how to follow, or if they even should follow it. 

The same unspoken words, unspoken thoughts, sit at the tip of both their tongues but neither of them are sure how to break the quiet.

After they order their coffee, Blaine heads back to the car. He hears Kurt mutter a surprised “Oh,” behind him and then he’s following Blaine.

The coffee is warm on his palms as they hop back into Blaine’s truck. Kurt slides into the passenger seat and eyes Blaine skeptically as he sips his drink.

Blaine starts the car and the silence returns. He begins driving, watching Kurt out of his peripheral vision. Suddenly Kurt sits up in alarm as he watches something pass out the window.

“That was the exit to home,” he looks back at Blaine confusedly.

“I know,” Blaine replies calmly, his eyes on the road ahead.

Kurt settles back in his seat for a moment, a look of pure puzzlement on his face before he turns his head and narrows his eyes at Blaine.

“You better not be kidnapping me,” he says forcefully and Blaine laughs, the awkward silence shattering. 

“There’s no way in hell I’d risk that, Kurt,” he replies. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you know self defense,” he only half teases because he’s thoroughly convinced Kurt has more talents than any one person should, and he’s only witnessed a tiny fraction of them.

Kurt blushes, a small smile playing on his lips as he looks back out his window, muttering under his breath a moment later;

“I do actually.”

It takes everything in Blaine not to jump over the center console and press his lips to every part of Kurt he can reach.

“We might be in the car for a while,” he confesses.

“Ooh, how adventurous,” Kurt marvels and Blaine feels an admirative warmth blossom in his chest, a feeling that’s uniquely specific to being in Kurt’s company.

“Here,” he passes his phone to Kurt. “Play some music.”

Kurt takes his phone and scrolls silently for a minute before glancing up at Blaine.

“What?” Blaine asks around a curious laugh.

“I wouldn’t take you for a Wicked kind of guy,” Kurt’s voice is rich with amusement. Blaine shrugs casually, even though he can feel the warmth peppering his cheeks.

“Well, I’m full of surprises,” Blaine quips. “Play it,” he tells him.

“Hmm,” Kurt considers. “On one condition.”

“Yes your majesty?” Blaine sighs, his smile impossible to hide.

“You have to sing with me,” Kurt requests in a sing song voice.

Blaine’s heart twists painfully. He can’t. He hasn’t legitimately sung since…

“I’ll hum,” he counters.

“Come on!” Kurt pleads. “What good is being Glinda if I don’t have an Elphaba?” he bats his eyelashes in an incredibly convincing way and Blaine’s not even sure if he’s aware he’s doing it.

“I’d rather just listen to you sing,” Blaine tells him truthfully. Kurt rolls his eyes, a blush high on his cheeks as he starts the music, staying silent and glaring at Blaine until he eventually gives in and sings along.

Kurt’s voice is astounding, quite possibly the most unique and gorgeous sound Blaine has ever heard. It’s clear cut and high, perfectly pitched and ringing sweet like a bell. It flows seamlessly with Glinda’s voice, soaring falsetto and rich wavy vibrato.

Blaine can hardly keep his entranced eyes off of Kurt, repeatedly tearing his gaze away forcefully to focus on the road in front of him.

The next forty-five minutes of their drive pass with Kurt singing to Wicked. Blaine hums along vigorously and when Kurt performs a hilarious rendition of popular, Blaine laughs until his sides hurt and it’s almost enough to make him break out in song and sing along. Almost.

It’s the happiest Blaine has felt in a long time.

Eventually they arrive at their destination and Kurt stops singing to survey their surroundings with wide eyes.

The trees around them are tall and towering, a ombre collage of red, orange, and yellow hues. Blaine pulls off the mountain road onto a wide patch of dirt that overlooks a vast shimmering lake, backing the truck to the edge of the cliff so the bed faces the rippling blue water, framed by the trees.

“Blaine, this is absolutely beautiful,” Kurt admires, sucking in a breath. “Where are we?”

“I used to come here all the time when I was younger,” Blaine replies, reaching behind Kurt’s seat and grabbing their jackets. “Here,” he passes Kurt his jacket.

“Are there bugs?” Kurt asks with a scrunched nose.

“I promise to kill all of them for you,” Blaine assures with a laugh.

“My hero,” Kurt swoons sarcastically, jumping out of the truck.

Blaine grabs the blanket he stashed under his seat and steps out of the truck, taking a moment to put on his jacket before he shuts the door. The air is chilling and crisp on his face, the sun halfway between the top of the clear blue sky and the reflective horizon of the lake, shaded slightly by the trees around them. 

He walks toward the back of the truck where Kurt’s standing with his hands in his coat, gazing out at the water. The tip of his pale nose is chilled red along with a rosy patch on each cheek. His vibrant blue eyes match the mesmerizing color of the water.

Blaine lowers the tailgate of the truck and climbs into the bed, offering his hand to Kurt and pulling him up. They settle at the back, their shoulders not quite touching and their legs stretched out in front of them, Kurt’s long legs reaching a couple inches past Blaine’s. Blaine spreads the blanket out between their laps and Kurt gives him an impressed look.

“And here I thought we were just going for coffee,” he says, bumping his shoulder against Blaine’s. Blaine smiles, silent for a moment as he stares out at the lake and gathers his thoughts.

“I need to apologize to you,” he says abruptly. He looks at Kurt. “I’m really sorry for what I said to you last night, Kurt,” he apologizes, his heart aching painfully with shame.

“Blaine…” Kurt begins but Blaine shakes his head.

“No, just hear me out,” he says. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that. You stayed up to wait for me and I treated you like shit,” Kurt glances down for a moment before he looks back at Blaine. “And I never should’ve called you a kid,” Blaine says sheepishly, embarrassed by the spiteful words he threw at Kurt.

“I’ve been called worse,” Kurt says quietly.

“That’s not the point, Kurt,” Blaine says sadly. The thought of Kurt being called worse makes his heart hang heavy. “You’re not a kid. God knows you have a much more sensible and practical head on your shoulders than I do. I… I actually don’t even know how old you are,” Blaine laughs. God, they did this whole getting to know each other thing backwards.

“I’m eighteen,” Kurt tells him, laughing at the ridiculousness of their situation. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-two,” Blaine answers. “Twenty-two and light years behind your maturity, Kurt. I’m sorry,” he apologizes again, and he’ll keep apologizing until Kurt understands how sorry he is for himself, for his harmful personality, for hurting this beautiful boy who’s come into his life on such short notice and done nothing but treat him kindly and help him see how lost he is.

“Blaine, it’s okay,” Kurt dismisses. Blaine wants to scream.

“Don’t do that,” he says, frustration in his voice. “Don’t minimize your feelings, Kurt. You didn’t deserve how I treated you,” he says adamantly. Kurt stares at him for a moment, letting Blaine’s words sink in before he nods.

“You’re right,” he agrees. “I didn’t. But I accept your apology and I forgive you,” he says sincerely. Blaine contemplates him in complete wonder for a moment, how someone like him exists, someone who can forgive so graciously.

“Even so,” Kurt says after a moment. “I have to apologize, too.” Blaine gazes at him curiously. He can’t recall a single thing Kurt has done that needs forgiving.

“What you said was true, Blaine,” he says quietly. “It’s not my place to tell you what you should or shouldn’t do,” he looks over at Blaine.

“Maybe not,” Blaine agrees. “But you shouldn’t be apologizing. If anything, I should be thanking you,” he pauses, staring face first at the puddle of all his nerves, all his emotions, all his fears. He glances at Kurt’s beautiful, kind, attentive face and with a deep breath, he jumps over it. “All the things you keep telling me Kurt, they’re things I already know but won’t acknowledge. You’re forcing me to face my problems instead of hide,” he takes another deep breath. Kurt stares at him, waiting for him to continue like he can tell Blaine is about to say more. Blaine closes his eyes for a moment, summoning all his courage before he picks himself apart completely.

“When I was in high school I was the lead singer of my glee club,” he begins and Kurt gives him a small, radiant, encouraging smile. “The Dalton Academy Warblers,” he can’t hold back the fond smile that falls upon his lips at the memory. “All I wanted to do was perform. I loved it. I loved singing, dancing, the rush, the energy of the crowd,” his heart beats swiftly in his chest as Kurt listens.

“Senior year, I applied to NYADA,” Kurt’s eyes widen next to him. “And I got in.”

“You went to NYADA?” he asks wondrously. Blaine nods.

“I studied theater performance,” Blaine closes his eyes, transporting himself back to that time. “It was really hard,” he says with a sad laugh and Kurt gazes at him sympathetically. “My Mom spent practically every single penny she had in her life savings to send me there and once I was there I had nothing. No money, no friends, no fucking clue what I was doing,” he laughs bitterly. Kurt’s beautiful eyes encourage him to keep going.

“My apartment was a piece of junk, barely big enough for a bed, a stove, and a bathroom. And it was still ridiculously expensive. So, I got a job at a diner I hated and I worked endless hours just to barely support myself, cramming school and classes and studying in between shifts,” Blaine pauses, unsure if he’s able to go any further.

Kurt takes his hand and squeezes it and it shouldn’t feel normal, but it does. His hand fits so naturally, so perfectly in Kurt’s and he’s surprised by how much he wants to tell Kurt everything, how painless it’s been for him to let Kurt in so far even though the memories are sore and aching, as if Kurt belongs in the broken, imperfect parts of Blaine.

“My sophomore year, I met a boy named Michael,” He starts and stops. The words feel acidic in his mouth, spiked and jarring and vile as they leave his tongue. He hasn’t told anyone this since it happened, not even his mother. It’s become a hidden wound in the middle of his heart, one that he’s slowly unstitching and ripping out for someone other than himself to see. Kurt squeezes his hand again.

“Blaine, you don’t have to tell me this,” he says softly.

“I want to,” Blaine says immediately and as he stares at Kurt’s pale hand entwined with his, the truthfulness behind those words rings soundly in his heart. He’s never felt more certain about something.

“I never had a boyfriend in high school,” he starts, trying to find an opening in the jumble of thoughts in his brain, a place to start that Kurt will understand without mentioning Carl because he’s still not quite ready to tread into that terrain yet.

“When I met Michael he was sweet, charming, a total gentlemen,” Blaine’s heart twists painfully. “He was a few years older than me ... handsome and smart. I was naive. I was naive and unloved and so stupidly young. He was perfect at romance. We went on a few dates and I fell hard,” Blaine continues and Kurt listens patiently. “I was never in love with him, I know that now. But I liked him, a lot. He made me feel good, at first anyway. He offered to help me with my rent and I let that blind me. It was too good of an offer to pass up.”

The sun lowers in the sky, giving its last shining beams. The golden light reflects exquisitely off Kurt’s face, his pink lips glowing in an almost auburn shade. A cold gust of wind sweeps past them and they both scoot closer under the blanket.

“I wasn’t ready to have sex,” Blaine says suddenly, diving head first into the thickest part of his heart. He threads his fingers tighter with Kurt’s. “One night, he told me he wanted to. When I said no, he said he’d leave me if I didn’t,” Blaine’s voice catches a little. “I didn’t want to lose him, or his love, or fuck, it sounds so stupid now, his money,” he says regrettably. “So I gave in. I had sex with him and it was the worst night of my entire life,” a tear drops down his cheek against his will. Kurt watches him closely, a troubled look on his face.

“But I moved past it because I told myself that he loved me,” Blaine continues. “And I thought I loved him. After that, he really only started to see me when he wanted to have sex. I was too scared to leave him and he was still paying for my rent so I stayed,” he explains. “I stayed in that horrible relationship and it made my second year at NYADA pure hell,”

“He became mean, critical of everything I did and cruel, but I loved him,” his voice rises in urgency and he can’t tell if he’s trying to convince Kurt or himself. “I got… pretty severely depressed,” he confesses and Kurt swallows.

“Blaine,” he whispers sadly.

“All of the sudden it got better,” Blaine presses on, in too deep to stop now. “He started to act like he did when I first met him. Out of nowhere, he proposed and I said yes. I still don’t know why I did. I tried to feel happy about it because things were better, but I knew in my heart that it was wrong. I didn’t even tell my Mom because I knew she’d ask questions and I wouldn’t be able to explain,”

“Up until this point, Michael had insisted on keeping our relationship a secret, which I didn’t question until the engagement,” Blaine scoots a little closer to Kurt. “I asked him one night if we could finally go public and he… he…” Blaine falters.

“It’s okay,” Kurt whispers gently.

“He struck me,” Blaine gasps out. He’s never said it aloud. Kurt takes a sharp intake of breath. “Across the face. I was mad for awhile, confused and hurt but eventually I decided that it was just a mistake. An accident. He was my fiance after all,” Blaine reasons and closes his eyes, another tear slipping out painfully.

“I went over to his apartment to forgive him. I used my key, let myself in and I found him…” Blaine pauses. “In bed with a girl,” he says between gritted teeth, his heart writhing inside. Kurt brings his hand to his mouth in shock.

“I recognized her from one of my classes,” Blaine wipes away a tear tiredly. “It felt like a knife had sliced my heart in two, you know? Why would he cheat on me? Was I not good enough for him? Was sex all he wanted me for? I felt completely worthless. I blew up at him, yelled as he tried to explain, and then I left. The next time I went to class she confronted me after, screamed at me for ruining her relationship and being a filthy faggot,” Kurt flinches next to him. “I didn’t do anything, just stood there and took it because I was too hurt and confused to do anything else. But she kept coming at me and then she started getting physically violent. She hit me and I acted on instinct and hit her back,” he says ashamedly. Kurt stares at him.

“I know, it’s disgusting and I shouldn’t have done it,” Blaine says quietly as the rush of self loathing barrels back at him

“Blaine, you were defending yourself,” Kurt reasons next to him, scooting a little closer. Blaine can see a watery film to his glasz eyes.

“She told me she’d file a report of sexual assault if I didn’t drop out of NYADA and leave Michael,” Blaine explains.

“But it wasn’t sexual,” Kurt responds, his eyebrows furrowed. “And she hit you first. Can she even legally do that?”

“The students at NYADA are lethal, Kurt. They’ll stop at nothing to get their way. I knew she would win if she pressed charges, despite what actually happened,” Blaine stares down at their clasped hands. “The last thing she said to me is that the only thing I’d ever be good for is dancing on a pole,” he says sadly.

“So, I dropped out of NYADA, cut all ties with Michael and every other person I knew from New York, and moved back home without a word of explanation to my Mom,” he recalls. “She lost her job right around that time and we needed money. The club needed dancers so I took the job and I’ve done it ever since,” he finishes dejectedly.

Kurt sits in silence as he digests all that Blaine has told him and Blaine immediately feels bad for dumping so much on him. He should’ve kept it inside instead of burdening Kurt.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes. “I’m fucked up, I know.”

Kurt closes his eyes and swallows. “Stop it,” he says. He opens his eyes and looks at Blaine. “You are not fucked up, Blaine,” He says vehemently. “The situation was fucked up, but that wasn’t your fault,” he scoots closer until their shoulders are overlapping.

“You know what I see?” he asks and Blaine lays his head down on Kurt’s shoulder, too tired to hold it up by himself as it suddenly feels incredibly heavy. He feels Kurt’s heart beat race under his ear.

“What?” Blaine responds quietly.

“I see someone passionate and talented, someone who sees the best in others, who loves generously and believes in the goodness of the world,” Kurt rubs his thumb across Blaine’s hand. “Someone worth infinitely more than what they’ve been through,” his voice is sincere and Blaine’s heart hurts almost painfully with gratitude at how much he needed to hear those words, even if he doesn’t entirely believe they’re true.

“You really think so?” he asks quietly, because maybe Kurt sees something in him he can’t find himself.

“Yes,” Kurt responds immediately. “Blaine, you’re not healing because you’re hiding that beautiful person deep down,” Blaine’s breath hitches. Kurt just inadvertently called him beautiful for the first time. “You can’t let what that girl said to you define the rest of your life,” Blaine feels a tear slip down Kurt’s cheek and land hotly on the crown of his hairline.

“Kurt,” Blaine sits up, reaching out gently and wiping the tears from Kurt’s eyes, fingertips grazing his soft skin. “Why are you crying?”

“I wish you could see yourself how I see you,” Kurt responds quietly and Blaine’s heart leaps. “I’m so sorry all of that happened to you,” he sniffles.

“I didn’t mean to make you cry, Kurt,” Blaine says guiltily.

“No,” Kurt shakes his head. “No, thank you for telling me. Thank you for trusting me and helping me understand even when it wasn’t really my place.”

“I want it to be your place,” Blaine blurts out before he can even really understand what he’s saying. Kurt eyes him for a moment before he gives a gentle smile.

“If you’ll let me help you Blaine, then I want to,” he says softly. “I want you to heal, to get back to the person you truly are.”

“I think that ship has sailed,” Blaine replies, his head spinning at the thought of going back to who he was after drifting so far.

“You deserve a second chance at your dreams, Blaine,” Kurt insists. “You weren’t meant to waste all your talent and passion performing at that club. You’re capable of so much more, so much bigger,” he tells him and for the first time, Blaine feels a tiny glimmer of hope, of belief on his words. They seem so real, so achievable and trustworthy coming from Kurt’s mouth.

“I’ve hurt my Mom so badly, Kurt. I don’t know if I can redeem myself,” he says.

“I believe you can,” Kurt responds firmly. “There’s so much more to you than I first saw, Blaine,” he says quietly and Blaine stares at him.

How can someone possibly see this much good in him?

“What was wrong last night?” Kurt asks gently.

“I’m not sure you’ll want to hear it,” Blaine tells him honestly, the memory of the man coming back to him and making his stomach churn.

“If you want to tell me, I’ll listen,” Kurt promises.

“I,” Blaine stutters. “I was doing a private show, my first one and the guy… groped me, grabbed me roughly in...” he pauses awkwardly. “Several areas. He kissed me and I felt so violated, so used…” he trails off, ashamed. “Which I know is so stupid for me to feel because I literally dance almost naked for hundreds of people to see.”

“Blaine,” Kurt interrupts. “That doesn’t take away your right to feel comfortable or safe. You’re allowed to feel violated, you know that right?”

“I haven’t been t-touched like that since M-Michael,” he whimpers out, suddenly feeling overwhelmed with his verbal admission and God, he hates that he’s crying in front of Kurt again but he feels things so intensely in Kurt’s presence.

Blaine always wore his emotions on his sleeve, demonstrative and sentimental and responsive for the world to see until Michael yelled at him one too many times for how easily he cried, how sensitive he always was, so he hid everything away, built a wall of iron around his emotions and bottled them inside, where he never had to deal with them, where he never had to burden others. It’s been a long time since he’s cried, since someone’s held him through it and told him it was okay.

Meeting Kurt placed a giant crack through that wall of iron, severed it and tore it into pieces.

Kurt puts an arm around Blaine’s shoulders and pulls him down until Blaine’s head is resting on his shoulder again. He holds Blaine as they look out over the water and Blaine cries until he runs completely dry inside, until he can’t anymore.

…..

He feels a gentle nudging at his shoulder. 

He opens his eyes slowly, and wait, when did he even close his eyes?

“Blaine,” Kurt says softly and Blaine sits up. A pink dust settles on the horizon where the dark blue, nearly black sky meets the almost invisible lake. Faint white stairs twinkle high in the sky. He can barely see Kurt next to him.

“What the hell?” he mutters. “Did I fall asleep?”

“Something like that,” Kurt says, and Blaine can envision his smirk even though he can’t see it.

“Kurt, it’s freezing out here,” Blaine suddenly realizes as he finally registers the sharp chilling air against his face.

“Your body is quite warm,” Kurt tells him. “Like a little ball of molten lava on my shoulder,” he says in an adorable tired voice and Blaine stares at him for a moment before he bursts out in laughter.

“Good God,” he mutters.

“I do have school tomorrow though,” Kurt sighs. “So we should probably head back home.”

Blaine gathers the blanket and latches the tailgate after Kurt jumps down. They get back in the car and begin the long drive home.

They drive in silence for a while, what was once awkward and tense turning into comfort and security. Eventually Blaine looks over to find Kurt peacefully asleep, his head resting against the window.

Blaine watches the gorgeous boy next to him, the first person he’s ever told about Michael. Not a flicker of doubt echoes in his body about telling Kurt.

A chunk of his heart leaves his body, wanders over and lands with Kurt. He feels it tug, pull him towards Kurt, towards light and beauty and everything wonderful he’s slowly rediscovering about the world.

He feels lighter, hopeful almost, the rough jagged edges of his wounds shaved and smoothed by talking about it aloud, allowing it to be revealed to the sky, to the wind, to Kurt, giving it another home. Smoothed just enough to make it sting and stab a little less when it comes back and settles in his heart again.

Maybe with Kurt’s help, he can move on. Maybe he does deserve a chance to start again.

It’s a budding flower, a beautiful butterfly opening its delicate wings and taking flight after being trapped, confined in the dark for so long.

The cabin of the car becomes an indestructible bubble of safety that Blaine never wants to leave, a safe haven from the uncertainty of the rest of the world. Blaine relaxes into its tender atmosphere, resigns to the protection and relief and takes a deep calming breath.

Ever so quietly, with a renewed song in his heart, he opens his mouth and sings softly, his gentle melody mixing with Kurt’s soft breaths and filling the hushed car, slowly constructing a beautiful symphony of something reborn, something new.

A second chance.

….. 

The next afternoon, Blaine’s sitting on the couch watching TV when he hears the front door open, footsteps echoing in the entryway. He waits for Kurt to come into the living room, but he never appears. Blaine furrows his eyebrows in concern.

“Kurt?” he calls, standing up and walking towards the front door. When he rounds the corner, he catches a glimpse of Kurt as he runs hurriedly down the stairs to his room.

“Wow, hello to you, too!” Blaine yells after him, confused as to why he’s moving so fast, avoiding Blaine and fleeing to his room almost like he’s hiding something.

Then Blaine notices it, the briefest flash of something sticky dripping down Kurt’s arm, his back, his neck and… purple?

“Kurt?”

The only answer Blaine gets is the slamming of Kurt’s basement door and Blaine follows it, confused and intrigued and worried. He walks down the stairs and knocks on Kurt’s door.

“Kurt, are you alright?” he asks through the wood. “What’s going on?”

Finally, he gets a frustrated reply, Kurt’s voice high pitched and sounding close to tears.

“Jesus Blaine, can you give me like thirty seconds?” Kurt yells back through the door and the worry in Blaine’s chest only deepens, tightens and leaves him distraught with the desire to know what happened, to make certain Kurt’s alright. Blaine shakes the locked door knob.

“Will you open the door?”

“No,” Kurt responds, followed by an exasperated groan and a string of obscenities muttered under his breath.

“Kurt, please? What’s wrong?” Blaine repeats. He feels a growing urgency creeping up his skin. The tone of Kurt’s voice makes something spark inside Blaine, something protective and overwhelming that’s desperate to help Kurt, to fix whatever is wrong.

“Kurt, will you let me in?” he shakes the door knob again.

Suddenly, the door flings open and Kurt stands in front of him, coated and dripping in dark purple syrup. His clothes are soaked through, his skin stained a light lavender shade, and clumps of thick purple ice stick in his hair, leaking down his face.

“What the hell happened?” The sight of Kurt leaves Blaine in complete shock.

“Happy now?” Kurt snaps, glaring up at Blaine. Blaine takes in the sad and angry lines of Kurt’s distressed face and reaches out to touch his arm.

“Hey,” he says gently, softening his voice. “Let me help?”

It’s an offering, a humble plea for Kurt to trust him, to let Blaine care for him in such an unguarded and disheveled state. Kurt stares at him for a moment, the wheels turning behind his eyes as he considers Blaine’s appeal. Blaine watches something melt in his cerulean pools, some acquired defense he’s built up to deal with these things strongly and courageously and most importantly, independently.

Kurt’s body gives an exhale of relief, calming minutely as his shoulders slump and some of the tension winds out of him.

“Yeah,” he says quietly and then he nods strongly. “Yeah, okay.” Blaine gives him an appreciative smile.

“How do we get this off?” he asks patiently.

“Bathroom, follow me,” Kurt sighs as he moves past Blaine and trudges up the stairs. Blaine follows him into the guest bathroom he’s been using while staying there, leaning against the door frame and watching Kurt grab a rag from under the sink. He washes it under the faucet, ringing it out wetly.

Blaine steps forward.

“Can I?” he asks, palm outstretched. Kurt gives a shaky breath before he hands the rag to Blaine and hops up onto the counter. Blaine steps towards Kurt, the bottom of his stomach touching the edge of the counter as he stands between Kurt’s slightly spread legs.

“This okay?” He searches Kurt’s eyes.

“Yes,” Kurt breathes out, nodding slightly. Blaine brings the wet rag up to Kurt’s face and scrubs carefully at his stained skin, starting by his hairline.

He’s suddenly aware of how close they are, Kurt’s chest rising and falling steadily just inches from his, his breath close enough that Blaine can almost feel it on his own face. Kurt’s long legs bracket his hips, his face open and defenseless, beautiful soft skin and glowing eyes, his lips wet and shiny. The intimate stillness passes between them as Blaine rubs, watches the purple fade off Kurt’s smooth pale skin under his hands.

Blaine’s transported back to the first time they were this close, the air charged and blazing between them like it is now, expanding and scorching. But there’s something new, an added dimension, a soothing and endearing layer of purple mixed in with the fiery sparkling reds and oranges, something calming and peaceful and not quite as intense yet every bit as passionate.

It’s magnetic, intoxicating, rushing and thrumming yet stilling, tender undertones of compassion and adoration as he gazes into Kurt’s eyes, cleans him and admires him and it’s so rich, so luscious and enthralling and they’re both right on the cusp, the cusp of diving in, of tasting more.

“If you want to tell me what happened, I’ll listen,” Blaine parallels Kurt’s promise to him, moving the rag to scrub at his neck, his milky white throat. He feels Kurt’s adams apple ripple under his fingers.

“It used to happen to me all the time,” He says quietly. “A few imbecile jocks at my school throw slushies at all the students they deem losers, which puts me at the top of their list since I’m a flamboyant homosexual in glee club,” he rolls his eyes and Blaine feels a rippling jolt of rage surge up his body.

“Somebody did this to you?” he asks and Kurt gives him that confused stare, the one that conveys that he still doesn’t understand why it matters, why someone cares, why Blaine cares.

“They stopped doing it to me when Puck became my friend, but he was absent today,” Kurt watches Blaine carefully. “I wasn’t even thinking about it because it hasn’t happened in so long. They got me after school in the parking lot,” he pauses as Blaine rinses the rag out in the sink, the watering filtering purple into the drain. He wets the rag again and rings it out, the water warm and refreshing on his hands.

“Honestly, I’m only upset because this is an Alexander McQueen shirt,” Kurt tries for humor, but his voice has a heavy sadness to it. Blaine lifts the rag back to his face.

“Why don’t you go to the principal?” Blaine wonders, a flame of outrage low in his chest that someone would have the audacity to do this, to Kurt of all people.

“I’ve tried. It doesn’t make a difference,” Kurt sighs.

“I can’t believe they just let those morons do this to you,” Blaine tries to keep his voice even, but he can feel his anger rising. “This isn’t fair, Kurt. You’ve done nothing to them.”

“I know,” Kurt replies. “But in a few months I’ll be out of there for good. There’s no use fighting it at this point,” he resigns and Blaine sees it in complete clarity for the very first time, how utterly oblivious Kurt is to what anyone else can see so plainly, to what everyone else notices except him.

Kurt commands the presence of everyone in a room simply by entering it. He’s stunning and intelligent and graceful, unique and special in ways he doesn’t understand, ways that make Blaine’s heart stretch and run wild.

“They’re jealous of you,” Blaine tells him truthfully. “They’re jealous of your courage,” Blaine swipes gently above his eyebrow. “Your talent,” he brushes the defined lines of Kurt’s cheekbone. “Your endless compassion,” a touch to his chin. “How absolutely beautiful you are,” Blaine’s voice is low and honest. Kurt stares at him with wide eyes.

“Nobody sees me like that, Blaine,” his voice is quiet.

“I do,” Blaine admits without missing a beat.

They stare at each other for a long charged moment, pulses racing rapidly, skin flushing and prickling, staggered shaky breath and open eyes.

Kurt’s hand finds its way to Blaine’s hip, rests there warm and solid and gripping as Blaine sets the rag down on the counter, his fingers wandering up to the soft skin on the back of Kurt’s neck, tickling the fine hairs there.

“Blaine,” Kurt whispers. “Our parents.”

It’s a feeble attempt to warn them both of what they already know, the final barrier holding them back as they breathe into the tense silence.

“I know,” Blaine acknowledges.

There are parts of Blaine that aren’t healed, bruised and broken and burned from the last time he gave his love too freely. He knows they won’t ever be perfect again, a cracked mirror that even glued together will always be visible of where it was once wounded.

Blaine also knows that in a couple days, this week will end and reality will take hold. There are things they should be worrying about, things they should consider, things that they should adhere to.

He pulls himself away from the linear perspective, cutting the string that ties that past and the future to the sphere of him and Kurt.

He’s left with only the moment in front of him.

And in this moment, Kurt sits inches from him, their hands on each other, pupils wide and pink lips open in anticipating breaths.

Nothing else matters outside of this moment. 

Tugging his heart out of it’s shelter and placing it gently back onto his sleeve, Blaine does the only thing that feels unshakably right, that’s reverberating through every cell in his body.

He slides one hand around Kurt’s waist. With his other hand, he pulls Kurt’s neck down ever so carefully, lifts on his toes and leans forward a fraction of an inch, pressing his lips to Kurt’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cue high pitched squealing*
> 
> You know... I got frustrated with myself for writing 12k words in this chapter and then I just said, "Fuck it." So here we are :) As always, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated! Tell me your thoughts! I love hearing them and I'm grateful for all you lovely people!


	6. Where Or When

As soon as Blaine settles between his dangling shins, raising a shaky yet determined hand to rub gently at Kurt’s tainted skin, Kurt knows he has mere minutes.

Some subconscious instinct in his body intuitively and innately understands it will happen, as if every meticulous wipe of Blaine’s hand is bringing them closer and closer to an inevitable outcome.

He has minutes to watch it build organically, the affectionate honey eyes beneath him gazing up as if he’s the most sacred being that has ever walked the earth. There’s a set resolution in Blaine’s irises that carries over into his movements, like he wants nothing more in life than to achieve the glorious and honored task of cleansing Kurt from all tribulation.

Suddenly words are tumbling off Blaine’s tongue in a sort of reverence Kurt has never heard, with such powerful conviction Kurt can’t possibly believe they aren’t true.

But he knows who he is, remembers how the world sees him and he objects, tells Blaine the cold hard reality he’s achingly come to terms with- nobody sees him like that.

And Blaine shatters it with such honesty in two cosmic words that make the room spin and shake and still and halt all at the same time around Kurt.

“I do.”

He knows settling his hand on Blaine’s hip is bold, and Kurt’s entirely certain he wouldn’t have the nerve to do it if his functional brain was in authority, but his body’s motions are beyond his control at this point. It moves on its own accord, commanded by something deep inside him that already understands Kurt’s hand is meant to fit there, to grasp there, before his mind can even comprehend.

And then Blaine’s hands are on him, a prickling brush of light fingertips on his neck that sends a shiver down his spine and Kurt knows he has seconds at this point.

“Blaine,” he whispers, because all the breath in his lungs is tangled around his heart. “Our parents.”

The words leave his mouth without any strength. They won’t stop anything that is about to happen. Kurt’s not even sure why he says it, if only to make certain that Blaine recognizes all the risks of what they’re about to do.

It’s a warning, but it’s also a question.

“I know.”

And Kurt sees nothing but devout truthfulness in his eyes and on every inch of his expression. Blaine knows, he understands, he senses and perceives the emotions, the prospects involved and yet he still slides a warm strong arm around Kurt’s waist.

That alone is promise enough to Kurt. It’s a safety net, it’s a hand to hold, it’s the keystone to the arch of trust and vulnerability that’s materialized between them in what should be considered alarming speed.

But it simply can’t feel alarming to Kurt now that it’s here. It can only be described and fathomed as a completion of something he didn’t know he was missing but can see with perfect clarity he’s always needed.

And now that he has it, he never wants it to leave. He wasn’t aware there was a side to life as rich and complex as this.

Kurt lets himself fall.

In a single moment, Blaine’s handsome face comes closer and closer, Kurt’s heart racing up and down flights of stairs, until the visual of his face evaporates and the moment resumes entirely in touch, taste, feel.

It’s the final component that sets the moment in place, makes it spring to life.

Blaine’s lips are warm and wet and soft, gorgeously smooth, fitting snugly and gently against his as everything inside Kurt short circuits and his senses struggle to keep up.

He’s kissing a boy.

He’s been alive eighteen years and never once has he known what this is like. He’s imagined it a million times over.

His brain tries desperately to connect the new sensation to a memory, trying to familiarize the invasion, but he can’t- he draws blank upon blank because despite inventing his own idea of what kissing would feel like, he never in his wildest dreams could have imagined on his own how Blaine’s lips distinctly feel, how Blaine’s lips taste.

It’s a still kiss, just a press, a fit, of lips together in a motionless lock, wet lips against wet lips. It’s tender and pristine, gentle and endearing. Kurt lets out a harsh breath through his nose, one of surprise and fear and complete excitement. It feels so right, so new, so safe...

So loving.

They pull back minutely at the same instant, chests rising and falling together in elation, unfocused eyes gazing at one another, seeking confirmation that this is really happening. Kurt’s met with Blaine’s beautiful face, full of wonderment and awe, and suddenly the most breathtaking smile spreads wide across his pink lips, showing all his teeth. Kurt can’t hold back the feeling of giddy euphoria that launches up his body. He lets out a breathless laugh and Blaine’s eyes sparkle as he rubs a thumb gently across Kurt’s cheek.

The world opens up right before his eyes, vibrant and bountiful sitting underneath Kurt’s hands in the form of a person. A person who sees him, notices him, accepts him, and wants him for who he is.

Blaine. 

In this moment, the world is Kurt’s. He’s tasted the smallest sliver. Immediately, he becomes ravenous with the demanding desire to taste more.

Kurt’s not sure who moves first but his eyes flutter closed as they come together again, pulled and drawn closer by some force that’s been driving everything between them since the beginning. Their lips crash together, faster this time, gentleness forgotten, cast aside by the frantic need to feel, to taste, to discover every inch of each other’s mouths now that the dam has been cracked and the floodgates are opened.

It’s terrifying… It’s electrifying. 

Their lips open together once as they take in a breath, a breath that is entirely full of each other’s air. Everything tastes and smells like Blaine, salty and sweet and wet with a swirling hint of grape from the slushie. 

The sheer ecstasy that’s racing through Kurt’s bloodstream overrides the nervousness and shyness right underneath the surface, gives him the strength to move and accept this without being too flustered and fumbly- despite the fact that he feels ready to combust at any moment.

He’s absolutely delirious with the relieving confirmation that cements who he is- who’s he’s always known and thought he is- into solid truth, now that he actually has a boy’s lips on his. 

He is so, so, so, so, gay. 

Blaine moves his lips against Kurt’s, coaxing his mouth open, leading and caring and guiding. Kurt gives in, lets Blaine take over and work against him, explore him and discover him and cherish him. Maybe it’s a little greedy, but Kurt doesn’t care. No one has ever made him feel this way before.

He’s also not entirely sure what to do, or if he’s even doing this right. He grips Blaine’s hips, tangles a fist in his shirt, and holds on.

Blaine’s hands raise and cup his jaw, strong fingers holding him in place. He feels the silky movement of something wet against his lip and it takes him an instant before he realizes it’s Blaine’s tongue, hot and wet and wanting.

Kurt relaxes, opens his jaw a little and then Blaine’s tongue is inside his mouth, licking over his teeth and the feeling is…

Fucking indescribable.

A tingly sensation shoots down Kurt’s core, makes the outlets of his body flaming hot. He can taste so much more now and it’s addicting, the wet slide, the feel, the taste of Blaine’s skin inside his mouth.

He wonders how he’s never felt Blaine’s lips on his before. It feels wrong to let go for a second. The world seems to click into place.

Blaine’s tongue meets Kurt’s, smooth and tasting and colliding and Kurt loses all finesse, all concern about technicality and correctness. He gains control of his jaw and kisses back hard, fervently, working his mouth against Blaine's.

He’s done letting Blaine be in control. It’s his turn to explore and taste Blaine.

Everything he’s held deep inside, everything he’s put on hold, on freeze, since the night he first saw Blaine he lets go, lets it all rush at him, pour down upon him, devour him from the inside out. It grips a hold of him, intense and possessive and hungry. He lets himself indulge in it, splendorous and dirty and erotic and Kurt would’ve been mortified a few weeks ago by his behavior, by his cravings, but something about the vulnerability and beautiful things he’s uncovered about Blaine’s personality in the past few days, the things he’s come to hold preciously in his hands for safe keeping, make it okay, make it exciting and thrilling instead of embarrassing and shameful. The preemptive tenderness that led to this ripping open of burning eagerness makes it safe, gives him confidence.

Blaine gives him confidence. He lets go of his restraints. 

More, more, more, more.

He can feel Blaine’s smile against his lips. 

Their tongues meet again, dancing and twisting and battling in the most intoxicating fight for dominance. Kurt feels teeth against his lip, biting and nipping and when Blaine licks the roof of his mouth, a low velvety moan rises from Kurt’s throat, rumbling into Blaine’s mouth as he swallows it. 

His cheeks heat up against Blaine’s warm skin. He’s never made a sound like that in front of another person so involuntarily, but he relaxes a little because it seems to spur Blaine on as he tightens his arm around Kurt’s waist.

Kurt squeezes Blaine’s hips into an iron lock with his knees, crossing his ankles behind Blaine’s back and holding onto his shoulders as Blaine lifts him off the counter. They kiss and kiss and kiss, swollen lips sucking and tasting and sliding sloppily as Blaine carries Kurt away from the counter and sets him down, pressing him against the wall.

Kurt’s panting, gasping for air as Blaine kisses wetly across his jaw, spreading a prickly sensation across Kurt’s skin everywhere his lips move. Blaine’s body is warm and heavy against his, and everything inside Kurt buzzes, his heart racing, his skin flushed, wet clumps of ice still dripping off his hair and down his neck contrasted against the scorching heat of Blaine’s plump lips dragging against his skin.

Kurt moves against him, restless with energy and motion and desire, his hands sinking into Blaine’s thick curls, soft and frizzy. Blaine releases a low, breathy groan against Kurt’s ear that sets the pool of gasoline low in Kurt’s stomach ablaze. It’s the sexiest sound Kurt has ever heard.

Blaine attaches his lips to a patch of vulnerable tender skin right below Kurt’s ear and sucks. Kurt’s knees nearly buckle as Blaine’s lips move down his neck, warm and ticklish, his pulse spasming under Blaine’s tongue. His head thumps back against the door, his eyes shut, his mouth stuck open in a silent cry.

It’s absolutely exhilarating.

Blaine pulls off of him then and Kurt’s a little shocked and embarrassed by the disappointed whine that bubbles up his throat. He barely manages to suppress it. 

“OhmyGod, Blaine.”

Blaine gives a breathless chuckle. Kurt opens his eyes to find him next to him, his forehead pressed against the wall by Kurt’s head. Kurt’s completely taken aback by his appearance. 

Blaine looks wrecked. Debauched.

His hair is unkempt, a riot of curls tugged wildly in several different directions (Kurt’s doing, he realizes with pink cheeks), his face flushed a light maroon color, his delicate black eyelashes fanning over his cheeks as he closes his eyes and pants.

Kurt can’t tear his gaze away from his lips, swollen and puffy and bright red, shiny and wet.

“Sorry… I got a little carried away,” Blaine breathes, turning his head to look at Kurt. The mischievous glint in his eye indicates absolutely zero regret. Kurt laughs.

“Sorry my ass.”

“How the hell have you gone eighteen years without being kissed? That’s an injustice to humanity,” Blaine marvels breathlessly. 

“Make sure to leave a good review,” Kurt smirks.

“Oh come on, don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy that, too.”

“Mmm,” Kurt hums, his brain simultaneously functioning both at half speed and in overdrive. “Believe me, I did.”

Their warm fingers connect and lace together, both of their palms sweaty. Blaine grabs him gently by the hips and pulls Kurt towards him.

“Here’s my review,” He whispers into Kurt’s ear, his voice low. “Eleven out of ten, would kiss again.”

He kisses Kurt again, slow and lingering, the heat and urgency diminished and replaced by something sedate and unblemished, sweet and lovely.

Kurt wraps his arms around Blaine’s neck, falls into the kiss, lets it settle low in his stomach, a net of swirling butterflies that makes him frivolous with anticipation and joy.

“Are you sure I’m just an eleven?” Kurt asks when he pulls back, grinning.

“Maybe I need to review you one more time,” Blaine hums happily, covering Kurt’s lips with his own once more. It’s wet and slippery and delicious as their lips rhythmically open and close, over and over, drunk on each other.

“Okay, okay, I need to go take a shower,” Kurt giggles when they finally part. His clothes are still drenched from the slushie and he feels dazed. He needs a minute to process what just happened.

“Okay,” Blaine whispers, a soft smile on his face.

Kurt backs out of the bathroom slowly, his eyes trained on Blaine’s figure, glowing like an angel with the fluorescent yellow lights of the bathroom outlining him. Kurt’s hesitant to leave, almost unwilling to remove himself from Blaine’s presence, to go to another part of the house when he knows Blaine is in here, when he could be with Blaine, but he might start hysterically crying at any moment and he’s not about to do that in front of the boy who just gave him his first kiss. His first four kisses if he wants to get technical.

He stumbles down to his room, unfocused and breathless and positively basking in rapturous joy.

He has a bathroom in his room. His plan- before Blaine completely derailed it by not so subtly placing himself two inches from Kurt’s face- was to use the guest bathroom to clean off so he didn’t have to stain anything purple in his own bathroom.

He can’t bring himself to care about any of that now.

Kurt laughs at himself when he spots his reflection in the mirror. He’s beaming, stupid with joy, pink cheeks and stretched lips that won’t stay closed.

He’s a disaster, purple clumps of ice melting in dark wet patches across the field of brown hair atop his head, clothes wrinkled and sticky. It’s uncomfortable and adhesive and Kurt would be horrified that Blaine saw him like this in any other circumstance, was at first when he opened the door, but he just can’t bring himself to care now because Blaine kissed him.

God, Blaine. 

Blaine who is caring and sweet and hurting, damaged and broken and so tender. Blaine, who trusts Kurt and validates him, who’s empoweringly sexy and humbly beautiful all at once. Blaine, who enchanted Kurt at the club, who lured Kurt in and revealed endless dimensions to a seemingly deceitful one sided story, who proved he’s so much more deep down. That Blaine kissed Kurt.

He’s one hundred percent certain he loses every last ounce of dignity he holds when he releases a high pitched squeal that echoes around the bathroom, bouncing shrilly off the ceramic tiles, but he just can’t hold it in a second longer.

 

….

After Kurt’s shower, he changes into some clean clothes and tries to start his homework.

He stays in his room as the euphoria gradually subsides and the reality of what comes after the kiss hits. Kurt, being the overthinker that he is, begins to panic.

What do they do now? What is Blaine expecting from him? Are they supposed to be more now? Is it going to happen again? Does Blaine want more?

Does Kurt want more?

He’s terrified by the answer to that question.

It’s still there, that red hot festering flame in the back of his mind that was ignited and awakened the moment he laid eyes on Blaine.

Of course Kurt wants more.

Of course he wants to spend every moment around Blaine. Blaine excites him, makes him feel nervous in the most thrilling way, in a safe way. He’s strong and gorgeous and everything Kurt is attracted to, arousing and desirous and Kurt’s actually frightened by how much he wants, how much he hungers, how much he yearns when he lets himself think about it for too long.

But there’s so much more at play now besides Blaine being attractive. So much past how Blaine makes Kurt feel physically, and everything with how Blaine makes Kurt feel emotionally.

And of course Kurt wants more of that, too.

Blaine is kind. He’s generous and giving and Kurt needs Blaine to see that, needs him to understand, feels the strangest urgency to help him become strong and confident again.

He doesn’t want Blaine to hurt anymore. He can’t fully explain why.

Blaine makes him feel beautiful, and worthy, and valuable. 

On the other hand, Kurt doesn’t want to get hurt himself. He trusts Blaine, he does, but it’s a superficial, albeit true trust, because he’s only known Blaine for a week. A little more if he counts the night at the club and Kurt’s not sure he does. What if his heart is shattered? Is it possible to open himself up to someone after protecting his heart from the cruelty of the world for so long?

Everything about this is so new for Kurt.

There’s also the fact that after this week, everything will be different. They may never be alone, just the two of them again. And Kurt shutters when he realizes that if they are, it’ll probably be because their parents are married. He can’t get in the way of his Dad’s happiness. There’s too much at stake with this, with their family, with everything he holds intimately to the truest most genuine parts of himself.

The thought occurs to Kurt that maybe Blaine isn’t even considering anything more. Maybe he’s worrying for nothing. Maybe Blaine wanted just to kiss him and nothing beyond that.

Kurt expects to feel relief at that thought. Instead it leaves him feeling empty, dejected and disappointed. It makes his heart contract in a painful way.

His homework sits in front of him, completely blank as Kurt stresses, his mind frantically opening tab after tab of concern, of hope, of confusion. He eventually decides it’s no use. He’ll never get anything done in this state. He might as well put himself to use and begin dinner.

Kurt walks cautiously up the stairs. He finds the main floor to be empty and figures Blaine must be in his room, confirming his suspicion when he peeks down the hall and finds the door to the guest room shut.

He walks to the kitchen and begins dinner with nervous shaky hands. The uncertainty of all his emotions leaves him anxious, dizzy almost with how much he can’t seem to find the ability to turn his anxiety off, how much he keeps trying and trying to sort things out internally, to feel at peace, but everything remains unresolved.

He cooks for a while until the delicious smell wafting from the stove becomes too strong and tempting to ignore as it spreads through the house. He hears the door to the guest room creek open, the telltale shuffling of feet making their way down the hall, and then Blaine is entering the kitchen.

All it takes is one glance in his direction for everything inside Kurt to soothe. Blaine’s smile is bright, his eyes glittering, his curls springing in a million directions. He’s so classically handsome, charming even though he’s dressed in a simple gray sweatshirt and black sweatpants.

It’s so calming, so relieving, so unerring and right to see him.

“Hey stranger.”

His voice is playful and caring and Kurt feels his shoulders relax, the tension leaving his body as he smiles at Blaine.

“Hey.”

It’s as if the waves of anxious energy flow off his body and straight at Blaine. Blaine’s face gets a soft unreadable look of contemplation for a moment as he stares at Kurt.

Eventually, he walks over and pulls Kurt into a hug.

“You alright?” he asks into Kurt’s ear and Kurt falls against him, breathes in his scent, remembers how Blaine pressed him into the wall and sucked down his neck not two hours ago.

And this is why he can’t let anything about this situation go, why his emotions are pulled tight back and forth like a game of tug of war inside his chest. Blaine’s presence calms him, makes him feel peaceful, takes him out of his head long enough to breathe. Something inside him clicks, sings and chimes every time they touch each other. 

Of course he wants more when all of this happened in such a short time. Imagine what could happen after two weeks, a month, a year in Blaine’s company? Being in Blaine’s arms makes him forget everything about their parents. All he registers is the isolated and indestructible tie between them. 

Kurt nods into his neck.

“Yeah, I’m alright,” he says honestly, pulling back and smiling at Blaine. Blaine squeezes his hand once and lets go, moves a couple feet away as he picks at a piece of chicken sizzling on the stove and pops it into his mouth.

“Blaine Anderson,” Kurt says, feigning a scandalized tone. “Where on earth are your manners?” 

Blaine chuckles and winks at him in response and everything goes back to how it’s been the entire week, as if the kiss didn’t happen.

Or rather, the kiss did happen and it’s the same yet sweeter, making Kurt’s heart swell. The kiss doesn’t have to define anything between them from this point on, Kurt realizes with relief. But it can sit on the air connecting them, beautiful and safe and something Kurt doesn’t regret. It doesn’t throw away what they had before.

“What can I help with?” Blaine asks.

“Wash the lettuce?” Kurt points to a bowl on the island. Blaine grabs it and takes it to the sink. They dance around each other in comfortable domesticity as they prepare dinner. Blaine goes a step beyond, pouring them each a glass of water and setting the table without being asked. Kurt watches him fondly. 

They sit in silence for a while as they eat, soft smiles and lingering glances until Blaine wipes his mouth and leans back in his chair. Kurt tries not to focus on his lips for too long, remembering how they feel against his.

“How was school?” Blaine asks. “You know, besides being slushied?” Kurt shrugs.

“It was as mundane and boring as any school day at McKinley can get. I had to give a presentation in French third period, but I think I did fairly well. And of course, there was the typical cat fight between Rachel and Santana that was a massive waste of everyone else's time, but that’s just an average day in glee club…”

“Hold on,” Blaine interrupts. “You speak French?” His eyes are wide with fascination.

“Yeah?”

“Oh my god, please say something,” he requests excitedly. His natural eagerness makes him look younger, so beautiful and authentic that it makes Kurt smile.

“Tes yeux sont la plus belle couleur que j’ai jamais vue,” Kurt says silkily, the syllabus flowing like a melody off his tongue, crisp and warm. Blaine stares at him in complete and utter awe.

“Wow,” he breathes. Kurt laughs.

“For all you know, I could’ve just cussed you out,” Kurt points out.

“Well, consider it an honor to be cussed out so beautifully and fuck you too, Hummel,” he smirks. Kurt rolls his eyes at the nickname, smiling.

“But seriously, that sounded lovely,” Blaine says, staring at Kurt with adoring eyes. “And effortless, too.” Kurt blushes, the sentiment spreading warmly across his body. He’s always prided himself on his ability to pick up the language so easily.

“Thank you,” he accepts the compliment, let’s himself relish in it.

“Vorrei che sapessi quanto eri bella,” Blaine responds and Kurt nearly drops his fork. The sound of another language flowing out of Blaine’s mouth makes him weak. He suddenly understands why Blaine looked so captivated. It’s gorgeous, the way it sounds in his voice, the way he rolls his r’s and the mysterious colorful gaze in his eyes that leaves Kurt to wonder what he said. He stares at Kurt so intently that Kurt wonders for a brief moment if Blaine is about to jump the table and into his lap.

“Italian?” Kurt guesses breathlessly, recognizing the sound enough to figure out what he’s speaking, though he still has no idea what Blaine just told him.

“You cannot seriously know Italian, too,” Blaine gawks.

“Just a guess. You better not have cussed me out in return, Anderson.”

“Hmm, guess you’ll never know,” Blaine wiggles his eyebrows, taking another bite of food. His cheeks have a warm sprinkle of pink to them at Kurt’s use of his last name.

“Did you take Italian in high school?” Kurt asks curiously. Blaine chews for a moment, fiddling with his napkin before he swallows and looks up at Kurt. He shakes his head.

“Carl taught it to me,” he tries to say lightly, but Kurt can tell the words are strained and aching. It’s another opening, a light streaming marginally brighter through the slowly opening crack in the door to Blaine’s past. His eyes are honest and Kurt feels the air between them deepen. He’s willingly letting Kurt in again.

Kurt laces his hand over the table with Blaine. He doesn’t need to say anything, just needs to convey his appreciation for opening up and his support. Blaine looks at him gratefully, smiles softly.

“What were Rachel and Santana fighting about?”

“Who gets to sing the solo for regionals in two weeks,” Kurt sighs, pushing his food around aimlessly with his fork. He thinks back to earlier in the day, sitting dejectedly and irritated in glee club. He had wanted to try out for the solo, just as he wanted to for sectionals, but Mr. Schuester cast him aside without a second glance, mumbling something about how they needed their “strongest players” and their “best chance at winning.” Blaine huffs.

“Why is it only between them?” he asks. “Why don’t you get the solo?”

“I’m not a girl,” Kurt resigns sadly.

“That shouldn’t matter. You have a damn good voice,” he says emphatically. Kurt looks at him warily.

“I mean it, Kurt,” Blaine affirms, as if he can sense Kurt’s skepticism. When Kurt doesn’t say anything, Blaine stands.

“C’mere. I want to show you something.”

….. 

 

Kurt follows Blaine into the living room, his brow furrowed in confusion until eventually, they approach the old rustic brown piano that’s sat unused in Kurt’s home since his Mom died. Kurt’s eyes widen.

Blaine sits down at the bench, his hands hovering and stretching above the keys before he looks over his shoulder at Kurt, eyelashes fanning long and breathtakingly over his cheeks. “Want to hear?” he asks, his voice low in an honest, raw way.

Kurt nods back at him, because how can he not? Blaine looks so effortless sitting at the piano, and the idea of getting to watch Blaine perform in a way he actually enjoys, in a way that’s genuinely him makes Kurt’s heart flutter and his hands clammy.

Blaine pats the seat next to him and Kurt sits, their legs pressed together as Blaine begins a beautiful, slow jazz melody, his fingers dancing gracefully across the keys. Kurt watches his hands, the strong veins in his wrists flexing.

The music is like warm water rushing down their skin, and Kurt feels it soaking his heart, drenching him, enveloping him. His eyes move slowly up Blaine’s arms and when he raises his chin, Blaine’s eyes are on him, watching him, wide and fiery and filled to the brim with undeniable affection.

Kurt studies the stretch of his nose, the curve of his lips, the scattered stubble across his jaw, his eyes roaming, free and observing and Blaine lets him, lets him see and learn with his own eyes, lets him find and take what he wants, exposing himself, open and there for the taking.

His stare never strays from Kurt as he continues to play, and when Kurt’s gaze lands back on Blaine’s eyes, what seems to be their home, a tremor passes through his body.

“Ready?” Blaine whispers, and Kurt just nods, completely oblivious to what he’s referring to, but he doesn’t care, whatever it is, whatever Blaine means, he wants that.

Blaine opens his mouth and begins to sing.

“It seems we stood and talked like this before,” his voice is silky and rich, layered and strong in it’s deep tone, pulling on a fine nerve in Kurt’s heart. Kurt inhales sharply. Blaine is singing for him.

“We looked at each other in the same way then,” he sings on and if Kurt was captivated by his dancing, then he’s completely enamored by his singing. His voice is filled to the brim with emotion and passion, each note, each word, each syllable conveying an array of the utmost intimate and deepest feelings straight from Blaine’s soul. It’s the most beautiful thing Kurt has ever heard. 

“But I can’t remember where or when,” he smiles, a breathtaking smile and Kurt’s so enraptured by the emotion of his voice that it takes him a minute to register the meaning behind the words.

He laughs loudly, jubilantly, his voice high and squeaking. The words are perfect, flawlessly capturing everything about the two of them. He marvels at how he’s even ended up in this position, how there’s even a them, a specific, tailored, unique and beautiful them to even associate the lyrics of a song to.

The corner of Blaine’s eyes crinkle.

“The clothes you’re wearing are the clothes you wore,” Blaine sings on and Kurt gazes at him, speechless by the outpouring of pure passion and emotion in front of him. For him.

“The smile you are smiling you were smiling then. But I can’t remember where or when,” Blaine’s eyes twinkle. It makes perfect sense that Blaine got accepted to NYADA, that he deserved his rightful place there. He’s magnificently talented, and Kurt can tell by the way he sings, like it’s a breath of fresh air, that he hasn’t sung or played in a long time, yet it all flows so obviously back to him.

Kurt closes his eyes and takes in a breath. When Blaine sings again, Kurt harmonizes with him.

“Some things that happened for the first time, seem to be happening again,” they sing together, their voices blending seamlessly, the perfect and exact counterbalance to each other. Kurt opens his eyes and stares at Blaine, long and deep. The words of the song float off their tongues, off the metaphorical page they were once written on and wrap around them.

It’s almost as intimate as when they kissed, if not more.

“And so it seems that we have met before. And laughed before, and loved before,” both of their voices seem to skip and catch over the word “loved”.

“But who knows where or when.”

Their voices soar together as Blaine finishes the song in a grand arpeggio, sweeping the length of the piano. His hands drop from the keys, the soundwaves lingering in an echo through the air, accompanied by their quiet breathing.

They’re so close, pressed shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, and Kurt knows it’s a bad idea, that it’ll only make the situation more difficult when their safe haven is shattered, but the emotions and vulnerability of the beautiful boy in front of him sink deep into his soul and memories of earlier in the afternoon fuel him, push him and draw him in a search for what he now knows they can share, what he wants to share again.

He leans forward, nuzzles his cheek against Blaine’s and kisses him slowly, their lips slotting gently together, two open halves of one irreversible whole.

….

They decide to watch a movie after that.

Their arrangement on the couch begins a respectable enough distance away, at least one cushion between them. Kurt tries to watch the movie, he really does, but it’s almost impossible to focus with Blaine sitting right out of reach.

Kurt’s embarrassed to admit he’s the first one to scoot closer, though he can tell Blaine is restless as well. He shifts closer to Blaine, touching their hips together.

“Do you mind If I-?” he asks, wanting to rest his head against Blaine’s shoulder. Blaine glances at him for a moment before pulling Kurt against him and wrapping his arms around him. Kurt gives an audible gasp of surprise but quickly melts into Blaine, tucking himself against his side and leaning his weight onto Blaine's chest. He slings an arm across Blaine’s waist. It’s lazy and warm and so damn comfortable to cuddle with Blaine like this, secure arms around his body and a steadily rising chest under his cheek.

He gets lost in it for a while, not exactly watching the movie but just floating in the coziness and warmth of Blaine’s body against his.

His mind begins to wander slowly as he lays there. He realizes that their time together is drawing to a close, and they’ve done nothing if not get more attached and physically comfortable with each other.

Eventually, Kurt realizes if they don’t talk about it now, they might not have the chance. He doesn’t know what Blaine’s thinking, doesn’t know where they stand and he needs to hear it, needs Blaine’s reassurance. He needs to understand what’s happening between them. When Blaine leaves, are they just going to carry on like none of this happened? Can this even happen? Should this even happen?

It gets too unbearable to hold by himself inside his mind. He needs to know.

“Blaine?”

“Hmm?” comes the mumbled response above him and Kurt wonders if Blaine was almost asleep.

“What is this?” Kurt asks tentatively.

“Uhh… The Devil Wears Prada?” Blaine responds slowly, clearly confused.

“Wh-? No, no, not the movie,” Kurt laughs, sitting up a bit. “What is this?” he gestures between them, meeting Blaine’s half lidded eyes. “What are… we?”

Blaine grows more alert at his question, shifting his weight a little to sit up, too. He grabs the remote and turns the volume down.

“Honestly, Kurt? I don’t know,” he answers and Kurt waits for him to say more. That wasn’t quite the answer he expected.

“Look,” Blaine sighs, fiddling with Kurt’s hand in his. “I know that there’s a lot involved here. I know that I’m older. I know that I’m a stripper. I know that I’m only here because my Mom is dating your Dad. I know all those things, and I know you know them, too. Logically, it just doesn’t make sense for anything to happen between us,” he pauses and Kurt holds his breath.

“But I also know that before anything with our parents happened, well, I guess that’s not technically true… Before we knew about our parents, I saw you at the club. I saw your gorgeous blue eyes and your breathtaking smile and Kurt… I was gone. I fell for you so hard I was determined to spend every night for the rest of my life scanning the crowd and waiting for you to return,” he looks up at Kurt. 

Kurt’s mouth runs dry. He didn’t know Blaine thought all of this the very first night. 

“And then… you were suddenly here. In front of me. In the same room as me. It just seemed like a dream, you know, like it wasn’t really happening. Every moment I’ve spent with you since then has made me fall harder and harder,” he takes a deep breath.

It’s weird to hear exactly what Kurt has been thinking for the past week verbalized by somebody else, by somebody he could only wish and hope to feel the same way. It’s the subject they’ve been avoiding, inadvertently communicating about through expressions and movements and sly flirtatious comments. It’s finally here, forthcoming and evident and Blaine’s not holding back about what he’s feeling.

Something inside Kurt bursts, warm and achy and spasming because despite the fact that they kissed, despite several flattering remarks Blaine has said to him all week, despite every single charged iota of energy that has passed between them since that night in the club, Kurt’s finally hearing it, for the first time bluntly, that somebody wants him, that Blaine wants him.

“I don’t know what this is. But I do know that I’ve hated who I am every single day of these last few years. I haven’t been myself. I’ve been miserable,” there’s a glassy layer of tears to his brilliant golden eyes. “When I’m with you, Kurt, all of that disappears. I can’t remember the last time I was this happy. You give me the strength to be myself again. You make me want to try and be a better person, for myself and for you,” Kurt swallows heavily and squeezes his hand. 

“I like the way that I feel about myself when I’m around you. And you, Kurt, you’re... you’re so goddamn beautiful a-and sexy. You’re intelligent and talented and hilariously witty and I just… I want to know everything about you,” he stutters out as Kurt’s heart flaps violently around his chest.

“I want to know your favorite color. I want to know your favorite movie and your favorite dessert and what makes you smile without fail. I want to know all your bad habits, all your odd talents, everything that makes you, you. Your flaws and your strengths. I want to know what drives you crazy, what things you can’t stand, all your quirks and idiosyncrasies, every single one, I want to learn them all,” he stares openly at Kurt.

“Blue,” Kurt blurts out, the only thing he can manage to say, his mind and heart swamped with everything Blaine is telling him. Blaine stares at him. “My favorite color is blue.” 

A slow smile spreads across Blaine’s lips.

“How come?”

“Because it goes with everything,” Kurt replies and Blaine quirks an eyebrow. “What? Think about it! Name one color that doesn’t go with blue,” Kurt challenges.

“Urine yellow?” Blaine questions with a scrunched nose.

“Actually…”

“No, Kurt.”

“Uh uh,” Kurt wags his finger. “Number one rule, Blaine. You never question Kurt Hummel’s artistic vision.”

Blaine gives a loud laugh, wiping a stray tear from the corner of his eye. The conversation shifts to serious again as Kurt watches Blaine closely, clinging to every word he says for all it’s worth. 

“I’m probably saying too much,” Blaine’s voice becomes nervous and self conscious. “I know you deserve more than me, more than someone who dances for a living…”

“Blaine, stop,” Kurt interjects. “It’s not a matter of who deserves who. I don’t care about your job, not anymore, not now that I know who you are on the inside. I only care that you understand you’re better than how you’re treated there. I’ve got my fair share of things, too. You deserve someone older, someone who’s not so inexperienced and virginal. I couldn’t give you… that… for a while, I’m just not super comfortable with all that yet…” he stutters helplessly, blushing. Blaine brings his hand to his mouth, kisses his knuckle sweetly, makes Kurt’s stomach swirl.

“That doesn’t matter to me. It’s not why I want you. It’d be worth it to me even if we never get to that point,” Blaine says quietly. “I don’t want someone else.”

“But… but… Blaine,” Kurt grasps for the right words, tries to swim through his racing thoughts, his heart squeezing. “We can’t,” is what he eventually says, the thought he keeps tripping on every time he cycles through the aggressive feedback loop of pros and cons. Blaine’s face falls.

“I can’t get in the way of my Dad’s future. He’s my number one priority. I would put his happiness before mine, before anything.” Blaine nods as he listens to Kurt.

“Everything you said, Blaine, I want that, too. But if we gave this a go, if we tried this, he’d stop seeing your mom. He’d give up Pam for me and I can’t have that.”

“We could keep it a secret,” Blaine suggests.

“Michael made you hide. I’m not going to put you through that again,” Kurt’s stomach hurts with the thought of doing that to Blaine. Blaine shakes his head.

“It wouldn’t be the same. You could never be like Michael,” Blaine’s tone is fierce.

“I know. But how would that even work? You live an hour and a half away, Blaine. The only time we’d see each other would be when our parents are together. Do you know how hard that would be to hide from them, in their presence? Do you know how hard that would be to lie to my Dad?”

“That’s true. You are, after all, one of the top contenders for world’s worst liar,” Blaine pokes Kurt’s side, a sad sort of tone mixed heavily with his humor. Kurt giggles and then runs a hand through Blaine’s curls, even though the action goes against everything he’s saying. It’s like his body can’t pull away from Blaine.

Blaine’s words are sweet, beautiful and tempting. Kurt wants to give in to them desperately. He wants more, wants to kiss Blaine again and be kissed by him and share everything that he is with him, build something that is uniquely them together. It sounds so right. It feels so right. And Blaine is willing, Blaine is offering, Blaine wants him.

But he has to be practical. He has to be realistic. Even if it hurts him.

He can’t mess things up for his Dad.

He experienced the smallest glimpse of what they could have. It’s beautiful and enticing and pulchritudinous, but it’s risky. It’s dangerous.

It would never work between them. He has to let it go.

“Even if we did manage to keep it a secret, what would we do if they got married? We’d be stuck and we’d never be able to tell them…”

“I hear what you’re saying, Kurt,” Blaine interrupts gently, silencing Kurt’s ramble. Kurt can tell he’s trying not to get upset, trying to stay positive for Kurt’s sake. 

“Friends?” he offers, sighing somewhat dejectedly.

“Friends,” Kurt agrees reluctantly, though the word sounds empty in his mouth, hollow in the air. Kurt contemplates the injustices of their situation. Of course the first boy that’s ever been interested in him has to come with such a complication of setbacks.

“Brothers?”

Kurt smacks Blaine’s elbow.

“Don’t even go there, Anderson.”

 

…...

Kurt expects for Blaine to be at work when he gets home from school the next afternoon, so he’s not surprised when he finds the house empty.

He catches up on his homework, practices some of the dance routines for regionals, calls Mercedes for a while, and eats dinner by himself. Eventually, he goes to sleep, tired and lonely and ignoring how he misses Blaine’s company.

What he does not expect, is for Blaine to still be gone the next morning.

Kurt notices that the door to the guest room is wide open on his way to the kitchen for breakfast. He doesn’t want to disturb Blaine’s privacy, so he treads quietly down the hall towards his room and barely peeks his head in.

The bed is made and all of Blaine’s things are gone.

Kurt runs to the window. Even after seeing that Blaine’s truck is missing, Kurt still searches the entire house twice in a panic.

He has no way to contact him. They never gave each other their phone numbers, a really stupid mistake Kurt realizes, if for nothing other than safety reasons.

He figures he could probably call his Dad. He’s halfway through swiping to pull up his contact when he notices the time at the top of his phone. His Dad is on the flight home from New York.

With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Kurt breathes a frustrated sigh and makes breakfast, which he barely ends up eating. He leaves for school because he’s not sure what else to do.

He can’t help but feel that Blaine’s disappearance has something to do with what Kurt said on the couch. God, he doesn’t want Blaine to be upset with him.

And more than anything, he doesn’t want Blaine to just vanish from his life after being in it for a straight week.

Kurt worries the whole day, floating from class to class mindlessly. Thoughts of Blaine being abused and assaulted again at the club dance rapidly around his brain. What if something happened? What if he got in an accident on the way home from work?

He arrives home from school to be greeted by his Dad. His smile is exhausted but exuberant as he envelops Kurt in his arms. Kurt doesn’t even have to ask to know that his trip went well, that he had fun, that he’s even more serious about Pam than he was before. He can see it in his Dad’s eyes. They hold the same kind of heart warming fondness that spills over into every aspect of his being anytime he talks about Kurt’s mother.

It makes him yearn for the past, for things he knows can never be restored to what they once were, lost forever and pinned only by memories. It’s a pliant future that sits in his hands, something that’s slowly constructing and taking shape to an entirely new taste that will break the frames of what he knows and and fuse with what he once knew.

He asks anyway.

“How was your trip?”

“Oh, Kurt, it was wonderful,” is all he says but it’s enough to tell Kurt everything he needs to know. Burt, being the ever wonderful selfless and altruistic father he is, immediately turns the attention to Kurt.

“Enough about me, I want to hear all about your week, kid.”

“Blaine never came home last night,” Kurt blurts out immediately because it’s all he’s been able to think about the entire day.

“He didn’t?” Burt raises a concerned eyebrow. “I’ll go call Pam.”

His conversation on the phone is comical in its brevity considering how much time Kurt has spent agitated and stressed.

“He’s at home, Kurt,” Burt reassures, hanging up. “Pam said he went straight there after work since we were coming back today.”

The small inkling of relief Kurt feels at knowing Blaine is safe is overshadowed by the sinking feeling that weighs heavy in his stomach, the one that reminds him that if he hadn’t told Blaine they were just friends, he probably would’ve come back, would’ve spent every last moment he could with Kurt before their parents returned.

Burt puts their conversation on pause for a while as he takes a much needed nap and Kurt distracts himself by working on homework.

Eventually, their conversation resumes as they account their weeks to each other over dinner.

Kurt gives an extremely scaled back and refined summary of their week, providing his Dad with enough information that he doesn’t get suspicious but leaving out most of the events that made his week with Blaine so impactful. He’s not about to tell his Dad that he made out with Blaine. Or that he got him drunk at a party.

“He was gone most nights for work. I had school during the day and glee club rehearsal some afternoons, so we didn’t spend a ton of time together,” Kurt says casually, and he’s not being entirely untruthful. Maybe a little about glee club rehearsals.

“Pam mentioned he does something in entertainment?” Burt questions, looking at Kurt for answers.

Kurt nearly chokes on a piece of his food. 

If only his Dad knew. 

“Yeah, um,” Kurt lies through his teeth. “I still don’t really know. We didn’t talk about it much but he plays music, I think.”

He thinks his Dad buys it, though he’s not sure he can lie with confidence about anything anymore after Blaine pointed out several times that he’s horrible at it.

But he must because Burt lets it go, moves on to tell Kurt all about his week with Pam. Kurt listens guiltily as his Dad beams, tries to look supportive and smile around the giant tangled lump in his throat.

He’s ashamed, angry with himself, because he should be happy for his Dad, he wants to be happy for his Dad. He’s the one who turned Blaine down for this exact reason, so his Dad could have the gleam in his eye that rests there as he talks.

All he feels is dread and disappointment as the knot in his stomach tightens, the situation becomes messier and messier in front of him, spiraling deeper out of his control.

He’s happy for his Dad. He wants this for him.

His family is changing for certain and he’s powerless. 

He misses Blaine terribly.

Kurt cries himself to sleep that night, pent up and overwhelmed with an internal battle that doesn’t seem to cease or slow, a raging storm of regret and reality, desires and practicalities.

Maybe one day he’ll stop being such a compulsive and controlling freak, he thinks to himself as exhaustion overtakes him, tear tracks thick and salty down his cheeks.

Maybe one day, he’ll take a chance.

……

It’s the little things he begins to miss about Blaine as the week goes on, things he didn’t even realize he noticed about him.

Kurt tries to reason that he would miss anyone after spending a week with them and then abruptly shifting back to his normal schedule.

But he knows, deep down, that Blaine isn’t just anyone.

He misses the little curls the coil tightly around Blaine’s temple, shift and rustle every time he smiles, when the lines by his eyes fold and crinkle.

He misses the little smirk that constantly dances on his lips, the teasing tone of his voice that somehow held so much respect for Kurt, different from the verbal harassment and bullying Kurt experiences at school.

He misses the way he constantly taps his foot, his fingers, humming quietly and subconsciously, like he always has a song on his mind.

He misses the small reveals of Blaine’s passions, his talents, the things he genuinely loves, the way his face softens when he exposes himself to Kurt.

“What’s stuck up your ass?” Puck’s voice cuts through the hazy cloud Kurt’s lost in.

The cafeteria around them buzzes, the indistinct chatter of hundreds of energetic teenagers, gossiping and yelling and throwing food, a constant flow of movement as people rush between tables and through the lunch line.

“I’m sorry?” Kurt looks up at him, resting the side of his head against his palm, his elbow propped up on the table.

“Come on, man. You’re not eating any of your food and you’ve said like, two words,” Puck’s eyes widen. “Oh no, did Whitney Houston die?”

Kurt’s eyebrows scrunch together.

“She’s already dead, Puck.”

“Oh,” he looks down in confusion. “Who’s the other one you like? The one from Dreamgirls.”

“That would be Jennifer Hudson.”

“Ah, right,” Puck nods. “I’m sorry, dude.”

“She didn’t die, Puck,” Kurt laughs tiredly.

“Then why are you so moody?”

“How do you live so carefreely?” Kurt asks. He might as well talk to Puck about this. It’s not like he really has anyone else at this point.

“Whatd’a mean?” Puck takes a giant bite of his sandwich.

“I mean… how do you just do things, you know, without worrying so much?”

“Live now, think later! It’s that easy,” he replies, and the look on Kurt’s face must be as dissatisfied as he feels because Puck sighs.

“Kurt, you gotta get out of your head. If you spend too much time worrying about the ‘what if’s’ of the future, you’re gonna miss out on the things that are actually happening in the present.”

Kurt studies the table top, tries to figure out how he can actually make that advice applicable.

“C’mon, tell me what’s bothering you,” Puck persuades. Kurt bites his lip.

“There’s this guy that I like,” he begins, and his cheeks grow warm at the verbal admission, his stomach swirling just thinking about Blaine, smiling in spite of himself. 

“Dude, that’s awesome!” Puck cheers and Kurt smiles until he remembers everything holding him back from Blaine and he feels the muscles on his face fall.

“What’s wrong? Does he not like you back?”

“No, actually, he does,” Kurt admits, and that’s the strangest thing, that he’s having this discussion with Puck, one he’s had a few times before, but it’s different. Blaine actually likes him back. That’s the best thing about it all. That’s the hardest thing about it all.

“Soooooo,” Puck draws out the word. “The problem is?”

“It’s Blaine,” Kurt breathes out.

“Blaine…” Puck looks off into the distance, mentally scanning through a list of people he knows. Kurt rolls his eyes.

“The one I brought to your party?” Kurt reminds him. Puck’s face lights up.

“Oh, right!” he says, and Kurt wonders how much he legitimately remembers about that night. “Cool guy. But Kurt, I’m still not really seeing a problem here. Wait, wait… are you trying to get laid?”

“Oh my god, Puck!” Kurt’s face burns bright red. “No!”

Puck shrugs defensively.

“Geez, okay, then what’s the issue?”

Kurt physically restrains himself from face palming.

“His Mom is dating my Dad, remember?” he shrieks.

“So…?”

“Puck, we can’t date if our parents are together,” Kurt looks at him in disbelief.

“Says who?” Puck shoots back. “It’s not like you’re related.”

Kurt huffs out a frustrated sigh. He can’t get any actual helpful advice from Puck if he doesn’t tell him the truth. The full truth.

“He’s the stripper,” Kurt lowers his tone, glancing around nervously to make sure no one’s listening to them. Puck narrows his eyes and leans closer.

“You’ve officially lost your mind, Kurtie. I have no idea what in the hell you’re talking about.”

Kurt groans. Puck is doing everything in his unknowing ability to make this situation as embarrassing and painful for Kurt as he can.

“First of all, do not call me Kurtie,” Kurt chides and Puck grins wickedly. “Second of all, you do to know what I’m talking about! Remember when you took me to the club in Columbus?”

Puck nods. Good, at least they’re getting somewhere.

“The stripper… with the blue thong?” Kurt says to him, nodding his head back and forth in an encouraging motion, as if that will help Puck remember. Suddenly, Puck’s eyes widen.

“You mean… Blaine is… Blaine is him?”

Kurt nods.

“No. Fucking. Way! I wondered why he looked vaguely familiar. That’s so cool!”

“No!” Kurt cries. “Not cool!”

“Why not? You were like, totally into him!”

Kurt collapses in defeat, burying his face into his folded arms.

“Kurt,” Puck says, softening his voice slightly. Kurt doesn’t look up at him.

“What?” his voice is muffled.

“Dude, just relax a little! Sounds to me like you have a golden opportunity in front of you. He’s the stripper you were into, he likes you back, and now he’s gonna be spending all this time with you because you guys are family! And the best part is, you’re not even related, so that makes it okay to get it on with him! The step brothers thing is like, totally hot if I’m being honest.”

“I swear to God, Puck, I will stab you with my fork.”

“Kurt, listen. People have to be taken for what they are. You can’t change who Blaine is or how he came into your life, and trying to ignore that isn’t going to make you stop liking him. But life Kurt, circumstances and situations, that doesn’t have to be taken for what it is. That can be changed and molded to whatever you want, as long as you’re willing to fight for it. You know, kind of like silly putty, or play-doh,” he trails off, on some other tangent.

“Does that make any sense?” he asks eventually, and Kurt pauses, stops to contemplate it for a second. He’s at a loss for words, because yeah, that somehow actually makes a lot of sense.

He’s a little dumbfounded as he nods.

“You know,” he sits up, looking at Puck. “For being such an idiot, you can be pretty smart sometimes.”

Puck places a hand over his heart in mock affection.

“Why, Porcelain, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

…..

In a surge of courage that undoubtedly comes from Puck’s convoluted and round-a-bout, yet extremely helpful and oddly inspiring advice, Kurt boldly asks his Dad to get Blaine’s phone number for him from Pam.

He had meant to show Blaine a recording of their sectionals performance but forgot, is what he tells his Dad. He needs his number to text it to him.

And, you know, safety reasons. 

Burt doesn’t bat an eye. 

He drives to the Lima Bean and orders his usual order, sits at the back table in the corner, and stares at his phone in his hands.

Eventually, he decides to throw caution to the wind and dial Blaine’s number.

The phone rings twice before;

“Hello?”

Blaine’s voice is like a blanket around Kurt, soft and comforting and honey rich, warming his insides. He misses it, he misses talking to Blaine, wants to talk to him forever, about nothing and everything, anything at all.

“Hi, Blaine. Um, it’s-”

“Kurt?” he says before the word even leaves Kurt’s mouth, and it sends a thrill up Kurt’s body, his name on Blaine’s tongue, the fact that Blaine recognizes his voice, that they’re talking again.

“Yeah. Um, hi, how are you?”

“I’m alright,” a beat passes. “How are you?”

“Good,” Kurt replies, and every ounce of courage running through his system depletes rapidly as the adrenaline fades and he realizes he has Blaine on the phone and virtually no reason for why he called him.

Kurt’s glad he’s at least at the Lima Bean so he has something to stare at other than the gray sea of his bedroom wall as the silence stretches long and awkwardly between them. He can feel his cheeks pressing warmly against his phone. He’s pretty sure he could raise enough money to pay off the country’s debts by letting scientists study his inexplicable ability to turn the same color as the surface of the fucking sun.

“Wait, you’re not like- you’re okay, right? You didn’t get slushied again, did you? Are you hurt?” Blaine questions rapidly after a moment. Kurt’s heart stretches warmly. At least he knows Blaine still cares about him.

“No, no, I’m fine,” he assures. “Um… would it sound stupid if I said I called because I missed you?”

It’s slips out, bravely and undeniably and Kurt doesn’t know why he’s so nervous. It’s just Blaine. There’s a long pause.

“No,” Blaine’s voice is softer. “No, that’s not stupid at all. I miss you, too.”

Kurt almost cries with relief at hearing those words.

“You can say it, you know,” Blaine says after a moment.

“Say what?”

“That I’m irresistible.”

Kurt can practically hear the smirk on Blaine’s face and it settles fondly into his heart, reassuring and relieving, like an old friend he’s missed.

“You mean irritable?” Kurt flirts back. It feels so natural, so easy to talk to Blaine like this. It relaxes everything inside him.

Blaine’s laugh is loud and beautiful on the air, a sound Kurt is finding makes his heart flutter and his lips curve reflexively every time.

“The nerve, Hummel,” Blaine scoffs and yeah, his nickname, Kurt missed that, too.

“You never came back,” is what Kurt says next. He’s not sure if they’re on good terms. He needs clarification. He needs Blaine not to hate him.

“I was trying to give you space,” Blaine admits and oh, Kurt didn’t really think of it that way. “I dunno, our parents were coming home anyway.”

“I was worried sick about you,” Kurt says, and it’s not accusing, more of a statement. He figures some part of Blaine still doesn’t register that Kurt cares for him, that his actions are worth something to other people.

“I know, I should’ve told you. Or called. Or come back, or something else,” he breathes for a moment. “It’s a bad habit, not really thinking about the way what I do affects someone else, and I’m sorry,” he apologizes and Kurt can’t find it in himself to be upset anymore.

“It’s okay,” he says sincerely. It is okay. Everything between them is okay. Except for the fact that he realizes the last thing he wants from Blaine is space. But Blaine was just trying to do what Kurt told him.

“You didn’t lose your job?”

“No,” Blaine sighs heavily. “My friend Leo who works at the bar covered for me, told my boss I did the session and left. Which is true anyway. But apparently Marcus was too drunk to even notice them escorting the man out.”

Kurt feels a sad weight in his chest. He’s glad Blaine’s not unemployed, because he knows he does it to support him and Pam, but he hates that Blaine is still stuck there, in what sounds like hell-like conditions.

“Marcus… that’s your boss?”

“Yeah.”

Kurt hums.

“Well I’m glad you didn’t lose your job. That’s a good thing, right?” he knows it’s not really, but he wants to hear Blaine’s response, wants Blaine to hear his own response.

“I guess,” the words come out around a sad sigh.

Kurt doesn’t know what to say next but it’s comforting just to hear Blaine’s breathing on the other end of the line, to know he’s there.

“Well, listen, I need to go,” he eventually says, though that’s the last thing he wants to do.

“Okay,” Blaine responds and then they stall, hang together on a breath because neither one of them know how to say goodbye and there’s a million things that yearn to be registered on the air.

“Bye,” Kurt settles on that single word and nothing about it feels right, all alone by itself.

“Bye,” Blaine replies and just before Kurt accepts that that’s the end of their interaction, just before he hangs up, Blaine speaks again.

“Kurt?”

“Hmm?”

“I still think you’re gorgeous.”

It’s enough to make Kurt blush high and warm, the knot in his stomach tightens in a different, more breathtaking, sweeter way.

He puts his phone down on the table and chews on his nails as he tries to figure out what the hell he’s going to do.

One thing is for certain.

He can’t stay away from Blaine Anderson.

 

…..

“Dinner, Andersons, Tuesday night,” are the last words Kurt expects to hear out of his Dad’s mouth as they sit on the couch, his Dad watching football while Kurt reads through a magazine.

He knows he shouldn’t be surprised. It was only a matter of time before he saw Pam and Blaine again, especially considering how his Dad’s trip with Pam went.

“Andersons meaning, Blaine, too?” he tries to ask as inconspicuously as possible. His Dad grunts in affirmation and luckily, something exciting happens in the game he’s watching and the moment is swept away by a chorus of loud cheers and excited claps.

Kurt tries to prepare himself, but he severely underestimates the effect seeing Blaine again has on him. A wave of intense relief and peace washes over him when Blaine comes into sight as his Dad opens the front door. As soon as he steps through the entryway, Kurt’s mouth runs dry, as if Kurt somehow forgot how astoundingly beautiful he was, even though that thought has greedily hogged up the majority of his brain since the last moment he saw Blaine.

His eyes are on fire, scalding hazel that sets Kurt bloodstream a blaze the minute he locks eyes with Blaine.

Every part of him is immaculately handsome, smoothly gelled curls and a charming smile, plump lips that Kurt shutters when he sees because he’s tasted them.

He’s tasted them. And it’s their little secret that passes between them because Blaine is smirking at him like he knows exactly what Kurt’s thinking. He’s looking at Kurt with such hunger that Kurt has to will his body not to move, not to run to Blaine and touch every part of him.

But there’s something else to his eyes, a fondness and admiration that makes Kurt’s knees weak, makes him tremble. Blaine’s looking at him again like he’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen and he can never get enough of that look, never get enough of Blaine, never get enough of the two of them and the soul wrenching pull that immediately flares up, powerful and magnetic the minute they lay eyes on each other again.

And then Kurt nearly falls over when he notices what Blaine’s wearing.

He’s wearing the same plaid shirt he wore the first time they met at dinner, red and navy blue. This time, however, he’s wearing blue pants instead of black like Kurt told him to, the most flattering pair of navy blue chinos that are perfectly tailored to show off his strong muscles, thick thighs and sculpted calves and the round curve of his ass.

He gives Kurt a bright and naughty smile and Kurt has to stifle the giggle that rises through his body.

He’s such a sneaky bastard.

Kurt is head over heels for him.

He’s missed him with an intensity that scares him out of his mind.

Kurt also failed to anticipate how hard it would be to interact with Blaine over dinner. Their parents obviously know they’ve spent a week together, so it’s not exactly like they can ignore each other.

But he has no idea how to talk to Blaine without talking to him like they normally do, unaware to what extent they can flirt and converse without drawing attention to themselves.

They sit next to each other, Blaine’s smell in his nose and it’s overwhelming and intoxicating but it’s nothing like it was before, when Kurt was nervous and afraid and shocked at having Blaine this close to him.

It’s riveting and stimulating and tempting and Kurt wants to lean into it, wants more of Blaine and he’s so close, so close but there’s nothing he can do, and he knows Blaine feels it too, wants it too.

“So, Blaine,” His Dad says gruffly. “I’ve heard a bit from Kurt about your week, but I wouldn’t mind hearing about it from you, too.”

“That’s a wonderful idea Burt, because I haven’t heard about it at all,” Pam says sweetly, though the look she sends in Blaine’s direction is extremely passive aggressive, more menacing than Kurt would think she’s capable of. Kurt sees Blaine’s jaw clench out of the corner of his eye.

He settles his hand on Blaine’s lower thigh under the table, right where it connects to his knee and the hitch in Blaine’s breath is exhilarating, the way he tenses and then relaxes, easing into Kurt’s touch, drives Kurt absolutely insane.

He has no idea what he’s doing. This isn’t what his mind decided, it’s the polar opposite. But it’s what his heart, his body, his soul, knows is right. Blaine exhales and loosens his grip as Kurt rubs small, soothing circles into his leg.

“Well, we watched quite a few movies,” Blaine laughs. “I mean, I didn’t really want to, but Kurt begged and begged me to watch The Hunchback of Notre Dame, so we did.”

Kurt’s jaw drops open.

“Not true!” he laughs in disbelief and God, he’s missed Blaine so much.

“Kurt hates that movie,” Burt chuckles.

“Oh, I know, I didn’t hear the end of it,” Blaine rolls his eyes.

“I don’t get why, it’s one of the best Disney movies in my opinion,” Burt looks pointedly at Kurt.

“Thank you!” Blaine throws his hands up in the air, grinning at Kurt.

“Oh, leave me alone, both of you,” Kurt grumbles, and there’s a moment, a brief skittering flash of some future daydream Kurt sees where it’s everything like this and nothing like this because Blaine is his boyfriend, sitting and joking with his Dad as they eat dinner.

It’s beautiful. Kurt wants it so badly his stomach aches.

“I’m with you, Kurt,” Pam chimes in, effectively shattering his vision. He’s brought back to earth, to the reality of what sits around him.

It’s still beautiful, in a different, more difficult, heart wrenching way. The ache in his stomach remains when he looks at Blaine.

“A woman of taste,” Kurt nods his appreciation. “We’ll aspire to far greater things in life than these two,” he motions at Blaine and his Dad with a flick of his head.

“Says the boy who recommended we watch The Devil Wears Prada,” Blaine mutters under his breath. Kurt’s eyebrows raise.

“Says the boy who won’t admit he has the entire Wicked soundtrack downloaded to his phone,” he shoots back.

“Don’t act like you don’t know every word.”

“Oh, I will gladly own up to my thespian side unlike someone-”

Burt clears his throat. Blaine and Kurt’s heads snap back to him in tandem. Kurt completely forgot there was anyone else in the room. There’s an unreadable look on his father’s face that causes Kurt to tighten his grip on Blaine’s knee.

“What else did you guys do?” Burt asks.

“Well, I met some of Kurt’s friends,” Blaine begins and Kurt feels his stomach sink as his hands grow slick with sweat. He definitely left that out when he was talking to his Dad. He squeezes Blaine’s knee, trying to silently communicate his warning.

“Oh? I didn’t hear about this,” Burt’s eyes flicker to Kurt. “Which friends?”

Kurt feels Blaine tense under his hand and Kurt doesn’t blame him.

“Puck,” Blaine says warily. Kurt can tell he’s unsure of what to say, and he gives him a minute nod of his head to indicate that was a good answer. His Dad likes Puck in sort of a detached, substitute fatherly way, ever since Kurt told him about Puck protecting and befriending him.

“And Santana,” Blaine adds, which was probably the worst answer he could’ve supplied, though Kurt knows he’s just trying his best to stumble blindly through the dark, completely unaware of what will flow over easily and cohesively with the information Kurt gave his Dad.

“Where was this?” Burt asks.

“We-” Kurt’s about to interrupt but Blaine answers.

“Glee club practice,” he says smoothly. “Kurt invited me to a rehearsal.”

Kurt relaxes into his chair, almost huffs out a sigh of ease, infinitely grateful for how quickly Blaine thinks on his feet.

Kurt listens to Blaine tell his Dad about their trip to the lake, his eyes shifting from Blaine’s gorgeous face to his Dad’s. He watches the way Pam studies Blaine, and it’s two separate feelings, the way he feels about Blaine and the way he feels about Blaine and Pam becoming a part of their family.

The walls feel like they’re closing in on him. Everything tumbles forward, progresses with rapid speed as he notices the way his Dad looks over every so often at Pam.

Blaine’s not about to leave his life, not with the way things are going, and he’s been so wrapped up in his debacle with Blaine that he hasn’t even stopped to consider that Pam is going to become his step mother. But there’s no room left to consider anymore, it’s not an option, it’s not a possibility, it’s not something he has time to mull over, to decide about. It’s happening. He knows it. He can’t procrastinate a second longer. The moment is here and he hasn’t made peace with it in his heart. 

Suddenly, there’s not enough air in the room. Reality has crept up on him like a thief in the night and now it sits square in his face.

He has nowhere to hide.

His vision gets blurry, his head spins, the sound of Blaine talking becomes fuzzy in his ears. 

He has nowhere to hide and a mess of raw feelings for Blaine that no matter how hard he tries, he cannot shove away.

There’s nothing he can do. It’s all happening whether he wants it to or not, his family changing and molding into something new, his heart fluttering every time Blaine moves next to him, his hand that still rests warmly on Blaine’s knee.

He can’t pull away. He’s drowning, he’s suffocating, he’s helpless. Everything piles up on top of him in an instant, burying him.

In a sharp moment that jolts his stomach so painfully he almost doubles over, he realizes two things;

He can’t ignore his feelings for Blaine.

Blaine is going to be his step brother.

The only choice he has left, the only option that still lays in front of him, is to try and fit the two of those together as seamlessly and delicately as he can, without hurting anyone else in the process.

“Um, Dad, can I be excused?” he breathes and Blaine’s mouth shuts in an instant, Pam’s concerned eyes landing on Kurt. “I just need a minute, I’m having a bit of a stomach ache,” he pleads with his eyes, channels every characteristic of his younger self into his expression to convince his Dad because he needs to get out of the room, needs his Dad to let him go.

“Sure, go ahead,” Burt says after a moment, looking at Kurt with caring, worried eyes.

Kurt stands on wobbly knees, feels Blaine watch him all the way out of the room as he exits the dining room and all but runs down the stairs to his room.

He’s hyperventilating when he collapses on his bed, running a shaky, stressed hand through his hair.

Something inside him won’t settle, sprints rapidly around his stomach. He tries to control his breathing, to hold back the tears that threaten to spill over, hot and heavy.

It feels like an eternity later, but it can’t have been more than fifteen minutes when he hears a soft knock on his bedroom door.

He straightens his clothes, blinks back his tears and searches for an answer he can give his Dad when he asks what’s going on.

“Kurt?”

It’s Blaine. The door is opening before Kurt can even respond.

“They sent me to check on you, are you-

Blaine stops dead in his tracks when he sees Kurt, his face alarmed.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

Kurt doesn’t even know if Blaine’s conscious of the endearment that just slipped out of his mouth, or if he even meant to say it, but it’s that word that breaks Kurt in half, shatters him like a fine needle to the delicately stretched rubber of a balloon.

The tears burst out of their hold, stream down his cheeks. Blaine stays frozen to his spot on the floor.

“I don’t know what to do, Blaine,” Kurt cries, his voice quiet and throbbing in his throat as it stutters out between sobs.

Blaine watches him for a moment, eyes wide before he closes the door softly and walks over to Kurt. He sits next to him and pulls Kurt into his arms, against his chest, running a hand soothingly up and down his back, kissing into his hair and whispering calming words into his ear.

Kurt burrows into his shirt, into the fragrant, calming smell of Blaine, pine needles and linen and lavender, curly hair and light stubble and golden eyes. Blaine’s warm against him as he cries into his shirt, Blaine’s heartbeat drumming under his temple, strong arms holding him together.

The tears slow after a while and Kurt catches his breath, rocks into Blaine slightly as he whispers;

“I can’t be with you and not be with you.”

There’s silence above him, the circling motions of fingers pressing gently into his back. Kurt continues.

“But I can’t be with you, because I want my Dad to be happy.”

A press of lips to his hair.

“But for my Dad to be happy, we have to be a family. Which means I have to be with you. And I can’t be with you and not be with you,” he repeats, landing back in square one, and it’s the root, the center of the spiral, the growing point of the chaos.

And it’s as simple as that when he strips away everything else.

He can’t be with Blaine and not be with him.

“Because when I’m with you,” Kurt speaks aloud. “All I want to do is this,” and he raises his head, grasps Blaine’s face gently and pulls him towards him, meets his lips soft and loving and caressing. Blaine’s arms fall to his waist, tighten and wrap around him.

And nothing else matters.

Because even if every single other thing is wrong,

This is right.

It’s soft and it’s slow. It tastes of salty tears and the dinner they ate and burning passion, drawn out aching desire, tender adoration. Kurt rests his head against Blaine’s shoulder when they part. Blaine kisses the side of his cheek.

Everything inside of him calms, roaring waves that settle, lap gently at the shoreline, sunlight streaming through the brooding clouds that are clearing.

“Look at me, Kurt.”

And Kurt does, because he’d done resisting, he’s done battling.

Blaine’s eyes are welcoming, soft and open and expanding, making room for Kurt to settle comfortably, safely, in them.

“Do you want me?” Blaine’s voice is patient, understanding, compassionate.

“Yes,” Kurt breathes without hesitation, but he might as well be shouting it from a mountain top. It feels so good to hear, to say, to admit, to let go and give in and trust Blaine.

“Then I promise you with everything that I am, we will make this work,” Blaine assures.

Kurt looks at him.

People have to be taken for what they are. He can’t help that he fell for a stripper, for the boy who will undoubtedly become his step brother in the near future. He can’t change the way Blaine came into his life.

And ignoring it, shoving it aside for somebody else, isn’t going to make it go away.

“Okay,” he nods, agrees, falls, lands in Blaine’s open arms, soars and flies with him. Blaine smiles at him, nuzzles his nose, and Kurt’s smiling, too, his overwhelmed heart finally laying down for a restful slumber as Blaine’s lips find and claim his again.

Because life, circumstances and situations, that doesn’t have to be taken for what it is.

They’ll have to hide. It’ll be risky, it’ll be dangerous, and it could even be heartbreaking.

But it doesn’t have to ruin his Dad’s happiness.

And it can still be beautiful.

Because he, Kurt Hummel, can take a chance. With Blaine by his side, he can change and mold this situation to whatever he wants to be, as long as he’s willing to fight for it.

And for Blaine, he’s willing to fight like hell.

Like silly putty.

Or play-doh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Blaine sings is "Where Or When" by Frank Sinatra.
> 
> 13k words... I've become a monster. I'm going to go hide in a corner and attempt to thaw the eleven day migraine writing this chapter gave me. Peace out.
> 
> (and as always, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated :) they might make the migraine thaw a little faster. Love you all <3)


	7. Lost Till I Found You

[ _Three years ago_ ]

Michael’s hands fit firmly around Blaine’s waist where he’s straddling his lap, wide palms cupping the top of his ass.

Blaine skitters back a few inches, pulling off of Michael’s lips and jumping away as if he’s been burned. He can’t help it- the touch feels so invasive and deeply personal, ticklish and intruding and uncomfortable.

It’s not that he doesn’t want Michael to touch him. God does he want, God does he _imagine_. But he wants to be absolutely certain of himself before he lets someone else hold him there for the first time, before he lets the hands of another person roam over his body in ways he can’t control. He has to feel confident in his plunge of trust to follow someone so blindly and believe they won't hurt him. He needs to feel unreservedly safe.

As much as he wants to be ready, he just has to face it. He’s not there yet. Not with himself, not with Michael, not with them together.

Michael’s head drops back against the pillows, a suppressed groan buzzing between his lips.

“What now?” he grits out, his tone clipped just to the verge of annoyance, and it makes Blaine embarrassed by his apprehensiveness, a self-conscious blush blooming on his cheeks.

“I-I I’m sorry. I just-” Blaine stutters, searching for words to explain himself, to justify why he’s lacking.

“Use your words, Blaine,” Michael demands condescendingly, almost belittling, opening his eyes to look up at him.

“I’m sorry... I’m just not ready for you to touch me there yet,” Blaine mumbles, his eyes cast downward so he doesn’t have to see the disappointed look on Michael’s face. Michael exhales a heavy sigh that only makes Blaine feel more ashamed.

“Blaine, baby, will you look at me?”

Blaine hesitates for a moment, gathering his dignity before he eventually looks up under his eyelashes, cheeks still burning.

“You know I love you, right?” Michael asks, and Blaine nods, but he can feel there’s a contingency lingering on Michael’s next words.

“But-”

He fiddles nervously with his thumbs. There it is.

“I’m a man, you know? I have needs. And you,” his fingertips brush up Blaine’s arms, filthy with the unspoken intention of more that makes Blaine shiver with some pleasure, but mostly discomfort. “You’re my incredibly hot boyfriend. It’s only natural for me to want you. I want to have sex with you, can’t you understand that? I want you so badly, Blaine. Do you not want me?”

“I do want you,” Blaine speaks rapidly to reassure him.

“Then why don’t you want me to touch you?” Michael’s lips quiver in a displeased frown that makes guilt drip deep inside Blaine’s twisting stomach. He hates that Michael’s not happy with him, hates that he’s failing him.

“I- I’m just not ready to have sex, Michael,” Blaine says helplessly. Michael’s eyes harden around the edges.

God, Blaine really is the worst boyfriend.

“What am I supposed to do until you’re ready, Blaine? Just sit and wait for you?”

Blaine stifles a whimper, because yeah, that’s exactly what Blaine would like him to do, but the exasperated way Michael speaks the words makes him feel selfish for desiring that.

“I’m only human, baby. You can’t expect me to wait forever,” Michael reasons and Blaine scrubs his hands anxiously down his face.

Michael is right. Their relationship is a partnership and Blaine is being completely self-absorbed. He needs to compromise, needs to give Michael what he wants, needs-

“I-,” Blaine’s voice cracks as the words he wishes to say, the consent and approval he desperately wants to give, dies in his throat.

He can’t. He can’t force himself to do this.

He’s not ready.

“You know what? Forget this,” Michael sits up as he pushes Blaine off him, sending him scrambling backwards near the foot of the bed. He stands, wandering around the room to collect his things.

“Wait, Michael,” Blaine hears himself plead as a frantic urgency rushes through his body.

He can’t lose Michael. He needs him. He’s dependent on him to survive in this menacing city.

He can’t do it alone. He can’t go back to two jobs a night. He needs the stability.

He’s nothing without him.

Michael is his first boyfriend, the first boy who’s ever held Blaine’s hand, the first person to ever tell him he’s beautiful and Blaine loves him.

“Michael, please, listen. Please,” Blaine cries. Michael drops his shirt from where he’s holding it in his hands and raises his head to look expectantly at him. Blaine shrinks under his glare.

“What can I do?” Blaine’s voice is small, begging.

“Have sex with me,” Michael answers.

The bluntness of the statement shocks Blaine, leaves his lips parted open and his tongue dry. He searches the words hectically, running them over again and again, seeking to find the romantic undertones in his voice, the tenderness that will assure Blaine that this will be special, that this will be safe, that Michael wants this for more than just sexual gratification.

He can’t find any.

“Have sex with me, or we’re done.”

Blaine’s stomach drops. He can’t lose Michael.

In this moment, he doesn’t have a choice. He can only hope that this will mean more in retrospect than it does now, that maybe it will be a wonderful, eye-opening experience and Michael is just providing him with the final push he needs.

Without another thought, Blaine pulls his shirt over his head and lays down on the bed, his body splayed out and inviting, his stomach tying in knots.

Michael grins wide, a dark look of pure lust clouding his eyes as he crawls slowly onto the bed, settling over Blaine and leaning down to kiss him, rough teeth and fast moving lips that bruise Blaine’s mouth, make his jaw sore with exertion as he struggles to keep up.

He lays there and takes every aggressive thrust into his body, fixing his gaze on a certain point on the ceiling as he waits for the agony to end, waits for the stinging pain to go away, for the dull ache to leave his body.

It’s hot and sweaty and stifling, his delicately thin skin throbbing where it’s stretched to a breaking point, splitting him in half from the bottom up.

It’s nothing like Blaine ever thought it would be, wide and blunt and painful. Tears stream down Blaine’s motionless cheeks.

“That good, huh?” Michael smirks when he spots the tears, panting and groaning as he moves quickly over Blaine in a jagged rhythm that pushes Blaine up the bed.

Blaine has no choice but to just take it.

……..

Kissing Kurt is nothing like kissing Michael ever was.

Kurt is soft and gentle, simultaneously eager and tentative in his control, and every move of his mouth makes Blaine acutely aware of how conscious Kurt is of _him_. It’s a pass-back of power in it’s own unique way, allowing Blaine to think about what he wants and what he feels, something new that he definitely isn’t used to.

His tongue is sweet as it swipes across Blaine’s, exploring his mouth with shy licks that drive Blaine wild, his nimble fingers threading in the short curls on the nape of Blaine’s neck.

He tastes so damn good, silky lips and an intoxicating aroma drifting off his skin that ignites a fine wire inside Blaine, pulls is tight like a guitar string till the vibrations become too strong and it snaps, overpowering him with the inebriating need to kiss him everywhere.

So he does, because he can, because Kurt said he wants him too, because they’re going to try this, trailing his lips across his jaw line and sucking at his ear, warm and pulsing under his tongue.

Kurt squeaks a surprised gasp, innocent and wondrous, tensing for a second at the new feeling before he relaxes and gives in to the way Blaine’s holding him, the way his tongue moves across his skin. His hands fidget restlessly across Blaine’s shoulders, swirling around his back as high breathy noises begin to slip through his lips, little whines and keens that make Blaine weak inside and voracious with the urge to taste more, to touch him everywhere he possibly can.

Blaine kisses just under his ear, sucking and nibbling right at the top of his neck where Kurt’s skin is ridiculously smooth and pliant. Kurt giggles high in his throat, the sound making Blaine’s lips break wide open in a grin before Kurt pushes gently at his shoulders.

“Blaine,” he nudges him away until Blaine is sitting up, level with Kurt’s face, his hands still cupping the back of Kurt’s head carefully. Kurt looks dazed, his lips swollen and his ivory skin stained pink, his eyes only slightly puffy from where he was crying.

Blaine still cannot fathom how unearthly and astoundingly beautiful he is. He doesn't think he ever will.

Their smiles are giddy and bashfully shy, excited and nervous and Blaine allows himself to look at the beautiful canvas of Kurt’s face freely now, without restraints, a piece of artwork that Kurt is sharing with him, granting him the privilege of viewing, equally open and investigating in return as Kurt gazes back at Blaine.

“You know we have to go back upstairs at some point,” Kurt says eventually, an amused twinkle in his eye as Blaine traces the pad of his thumb carefully around all the distinct lines of his face, learning them individually, smoothing out the irritated wet skin around his eyes.

“Maybe they’ve forgotten about us,” Blaine outlines the dip in Kurt’s upper lip and Kurt’s breath catches. “Maybe they’re doing the exact same thing up there. We’re probably doing them a favor by staying down here.”

“I would really rather not have those images in my head, thank you,” Kurt deadpans, but his lips form back into a soft smile quickly as he catches Blaine’s wrist with his fingers and threads their hands together.

“Do I look okay?”

Blaine makes a throaty noise.

“Believe me, you look more than okay.”

Kurt shoots him a flustered glare that makes Blaine laugh.

“You know what I mean,” Kurt responds, smoothing down his hair and readjusting his collar. Blaine stands and pulls Kurt up gently, dragging him close. He places a small peck of lips to his warm cheek that makes Kurt’s smile grow wider and his eyes sparkle mistily.

“Now you look perfect,” Blaine whispers. He does. He always does.

“This is going to be so hard,” Kurt breathes.

“What?”

“Pretending that none of this exists when we go back upstairs,” he gestures in the small space of air between them.

“I know,” Blaine replies, because all he wants to do is sit down and discover every single thing about Kurt, talk to him for hours and hours, make him blush repeatedly and kiss his lips endlessly. The tantalizing thing is that he can, he knows Kurt wants him to now that they’ve admitted their mutual desire to each other, except they can’t- because they need to be upstairs, where they have to act like distant acquaintances.

But Blaine will be with Kurt, and that’s better than ridiculously attempting to put distance between them that they both know will be impossible to maintain.

“It’ll be worth it,” Blaine promises. He knows it will be, knows that any second in Kurt’s company is worth more than gold and has been since the moment he saw him in the crowd.

“It’s worth it now, just to be able to do this,” he leans forward and presses his lips against Kurt’s, slow and sweet. He’s vaguely aware somewhere in the back of his mind that he’s becoming insatiable, drunk on his newfound power, on the beautiful boy in front of him, but he’s not about to stop. He can’t stop, he can’t pull away, defenseless against the force that pulls every part of him closer to Kurt.

“We’re never getting back up there at this rate,” Kurt mumbles against his lips, but he makes no move to leave, his hands squeezing Blaine’s biceps tightly, feeling out the muscle under his clothes.

Eventually their lips edge apart and separate slowly. Blaine actually does help Kurt this time, brushing fallen strands of hair off his forehead and wiggling his shirt into place until he looks exactly like he did before he left dinner.

Kurt smiles shyly at him in an adorable way that makes Blaine’s stomach flutter before he turns to head up the stairs. Suddenly, a concern nags at Blaine’s mind and he reaches out a hand to stop Kurt, right before his feet land on the second step.

“Hey,” he says sincerely and Kurt looks back at him. “We’re playing this by your rules, okay? I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with.” The fateful conversation with Michael drifts back to him, replays vividly in his mind.

“If it becomes too overwhelming, if it’s too much to hide, if you want to stop, anything Kurt, at any point, tell me and we’ll stop. As soon as you ask, we’ll be done. I’ll back off, I promise.”

Kurt looks down at him, an awed gratitude shimmering in his eyes that Blaine thinks shouldn’t look so bewildering and foreign on his face. Blaine has a feeling that this is the first time anyone has ever considered his feelings so substantially.

He wants to change that. More than anything.

“I don’t think that will happen,” Kurt says softly.

“But you have to know that I would stop in an instant if it does. Okay?”

He never, ever, wants to do to Kurt what Michael did to him. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself.

Kurt’s been so hesitant, so anxious about this, he has to know for certain that he’s doing this because he wants it, not because Blaine is pressuring him to.

He’ll do everything in his power to make sure Kurt’s comfortable and safe. It’s what he deserves. Blaine’s just lucky enough to get a chance to give it to him.

The smile Kurt beams at him is positively radiant.

“Okay.”

…..

Blaine doesn’t see Kurt for a week after that night.

A week that passes in long drawn-out shifts at the club that seem to last years as he waits impatiently and anxiously to talk to Kurt, to read his texts, fantasizing and dreaming and wondering hopelessly about what he’s doing.

A week that passes achingly slow as he burns with the yearning desire to see Kurt again, yet somehow also impossibly fast, a whirlwind blur of a brand new relationship that thrills Blaine, invigorates him with a newfound optimism he hasn’t felt in years. He finds himself blushing and bashful again, giddy smiles over the phone as if he’s seventeen and never been in a relationship before.

But that’s exactly what this all is for Kurt- his first relationship, his first of anything really, and his enthusiasm is infectious. He’s eager and attentive to Blaine in a tender, refreshing way that rejuvenates Blaine, makes him feel bright and hopeful and cared for despite the countless draining hours he spends dancing that weigh down on him throughout the week.

It’s almost as if he’s meeting Kurt all over again, an enthralling enigma that seems to keep expanding and growing as he learns little things about him that make him breathless, things that make his heart soften more than he ever thought possible.

He learns that Kurt uses full punctuation in his texts, no matter how short the message is, and that he sometimes sends a random flower at the end of his sentences, though Blaine has no idea why.

He learns that Kurt likes to go to a specific park by his house and sit under his favorite tree when he calls Blaine on the phone.

He learns that Kurt’s voice gets impossibly high when he rants about Mr. Schuester, and that he has multiple laughs, a melodic giggle whenever Blaine compliments him and a low, sarcastic snort whenever Blaine tells him a horrible joke, for no other reason than to envision him smiling.

Their texts and calls are filled with seeming nothingness, random comments from Kurt about ‘you would not believe what this girl was wearing today’, or ‘God, I forgot how awful the third season of Downton Abbey is,’ and it fills Blaine with complete adoration, every conversation meaningful to him no matter how silly the topic, because it’s Kurt, because he’s discovering everything about him is endearing in the most intoxicating way possible, and Blaine is content to just listen to him talk about whatever the hell he wants.

By the end of the week, Blaine is overwhelmed with the surging desire to see Kurt again, to touch him, to kiss him, to watch the little dimple in his cheek form every time he smiles and to gaze into his dazzling eyes.

Luckily for them, dinner with the Hummel’s seems to naturally become an unspoken weekly tradition. Blaine’s just about to leave for his Friday night shift at the club when Pam informs him of their plans.

“We’re having dinner with the Hummel’s again,” she calls from the kitchen table as Blaine fills up his water bottle and grabs his keys. “Tomorrow night.”

“That means I’m going to have to take off work,” Blaine pretends to sigh annoyedly. “Again.”

He’s not actually working the next night, but he doesn’t want his Mom to suspect anything unusual and he figures the urge he has to excitedly jump up and down would probably be a little suspicious.

“Maybe you should find a job that accommodates your schedule better, Blaine,” his Mom responds, her voice hinting bitterly at something more and Blaine waits for the words he knows are about to come next.

“You know, maybe one that isn’t at a strip club?”

Blaine’s feigned annoyance morphs into genuine annoyance quickly as her words jab at him. He ignores her comment, slamming the door on his way out and hoping into his truck.

He closes his eyes and breathes heavily for a few minutes before taking out his phone and dialing Kurt’s number as he pulls out of the driveway.

“Hey you,” Kurt answers, his voice sweet and clear and the sound instantly bringing a relaxed smile to Blaine’s face.

“Hey. Did you hear the good news?”

“Joe finally decided to go fuck himself?” Kurt guesses, a smirk clearly visible in his voice. Blaine laughs loudly, his voice echoing around the small cabin of his truck.

Blaine doesn’t tell Kurt much about his time at work. There’s not a lot he can elaborate on other than he hates it, and a part of him thinks Kurt is still kind of uncomfortable with the whole thing, so he doesn’t waste time burdening Kurt with disheartening details when he could listen to him talk about something else instead.

The only thing he really tells him about is Joe and his aggravating attempts to get in Blaine’s pants, which Kurt finds hysterical.

“So close,” Blaine laughs.

“Hmm, anything else is going to be thoroughly disappointing,” Kurt pouts.

“What if I told you it involves me?”

“I’m listening,” Kurt purrs and Blaine’s smile grows, his heart beating warm.

“I’m coming to your house tomorrow night for dinner,” Blaine reveals in a sing-song voice, smiling wider when Kurt gives an absolutely adorable squeal.

“You’re serious?”

“Your Dad hasn’t said anything to you yet?” Blaine asks, turning out of his neighborhood.

“No! God, Blaine I’ve been going insane-”

“Kurt Hummel,” Blaine cuts him off teasingly, his cheeks aching with how hard he’s smiling. “Are you saying you’ve missed me?”

“Oh, shut up,” Kurt flushes. Blaine can practically feel him blushing through the phone. “Yes, I’ve missed you.”

“How funny,” Blaine muses. “I’ve missed you, too.”

“You know, I was considering sneaking out or something, driving to Columbus again just to see you,” Kurt speaks rapidly, something Blaine’s learned happens when he’s overly excited.

“You’re far too obedient for that,” Blaine flirts, laughing uncontrollably at Kurt’s scoff.

“Excuse me? Don’t challenge my rebellious side Blaine, I’ve done it before and I can do it again.”

“Well, I’ll spare you the trouble and just come to you,” Blaine grins as he turns into the small back lot of the club, swinging his truck into his regular spot.

“Hmm, always so selfless,” Kurt drawls sarcastically. There’s a pause as Blaine pulls his keys out of the ignition and stares at his glowing smile in the small rear view mirror, the reflection of his face foreign and nostalgic.

He looks younger. He looks _joyful._

“Well, listen, I have to go,” Blaine parts reluctantly when his eyes glance at the clock on his dashboard.

“Work?” Kurt questions and Blaine gives a small hum of affirmation.

“I can’t wait to see you tomorrow,” Blaine tells him, his heart fluttering in anticipation at the thought.

“I can’t wait to see you, either,” Kurt says happily. “Have a good night tonight. And hey…Don’t make any of those poor unsuspecting boys fall for you with your wicked ways,” he adds after a moment and Blaine feels a surge of pure joy run through his body, blossoming outwards like a flower from his heart.

“I won’t,” he beams. “I already caught the best one.”

…..

Blaine’s positive mood is indestructible after his phone call with Kurt, fueling him through the night with ease and a refined sort of cheerfulness (as cheerful as he can be while dancing), that makes the hours fade effortlessly away into the soft darkness of the night.

He visits the bar after his stage performance, hopping onto one of the leather stools and grinning brightly at Leo.

“Hey Leo,” he greets. Leo dries a glass slowly, eyeing him warily for a few moments before he slings the towel over his shoulder and rests his hands on the counter top.

“You look… happy,” his eyebrows furrow together. “What’s going on, Kid?”

Blaine’s mind flashes radiantly with images of Kurt, reminding him that he gets to see him again tomorrow, an air of elation settling over him, seeping into his skin and piercing his heart, forcing his smile impossibly wider.

“Can’t a guy have a good day?” his voice is enthusiastic as he gestures for Leo to get him his usual drink. Leo stares at him with confused eyes as he fills his drink, taking in Blaine’s energized state and calculating furiously in his mind.

As he slides the glass across the counter, his eyes spark with a conclusion, softening slightly as an amused smile begins to tug at his lips.

“You didn’t,” he marvels around a chuckle. Blaine raises an eyebrow at him, his lips pursed around the rim of his drink.

“You got yourself a boyfriend,” Leo shakes his head, laughing to himself.

“Says who?” Blaine tries to deflect, but even still his heart spasms uncontrollably.

“Says me,” Leo answers. “I know a love-sick fool when I see one. Who is he?”

“Leo,” Blaine gasps, affronted. “I don’t kiss and tell.”

Leo laughs as Blaine sips more of his drink, swiping up the counter and humming to the loud music drumming through the club. After a minute his hands slow and he gazes up at Blaine with a protective seriousness in his eyes, a tender genuineness that makes Blaine feel so cared for it almost hurts, his insides overpoweringly warm and fuzzy.

“Does he make you happy?”

“So far?” Blaine rests his chin against his palm. “The happiest.”

“It’s nice to see you like this,” Leo tells him, the sincerity detectable in his words as soon as they leave his mouth, charged with emotion and ringing soundly on the dingy air, a beautiful string of twinkling bright lights against the enveloping blackness around them.

“He makes me a better person,” Blaine answers truthfully, a blush rising on his cheeks and a small, uncontrollable smile playing at his lips.

“Good. You deserve to be better than this,” Leo tells him bluntly.

Blaine hums in agreement, fixating his gaze on a spot on the counter as his mind races, mulling over Leo’s words in his head.

For the first time, Blaine truly believes that he does deserve to be better than this desolate life he’s been living, now that he’s tasted something so beautifully terrific and been reminded just how wonderful the world can be.

…..

Blaine drives the next afternoon, road signs and trees coming back to him with growing familiarity as he makes the practiced drive to Lima, the drive he’s coming to know instinctively well.

An hour and a half extends unbearably long now that he has a destination to travel to, someone waiting for him to arrive, someone he can hardly go another moment without seeing.

His Mom sits in the passenger seat, mostly quiet as Blaine blasts the radio. Blaine can see her glancing at him out of his peripheral vision, watching him observantly as he sings along to the fast music filling the open air.

As the music filters out into ads, she turn the dial down and Blaine looks over at her.

“How’s work going?” she tries to say conversationally. Blaine peers at her more intently before shifting his gaze back to the road, trying to decipher what she’s truly asking with that question.

“It’s alright,” he answers cryptically.

“Is it going well?”

“Why do you ask?” Blaine’s hands tighten around the steering wheel slightly. His Mom hates his job. She wouldn’t ask unless to criticize him in some aspect, and he doesn’t feel like getting in another argument right now, not when he feels this relaxed and exhilarated.

“You just seem different,” she trails off. “Happier.”

Blaine gives a shrug, unsure of how to answer. He can’t reveal what’s really making him happy, though he has the sudden urge to gush proudly to his Mom about Kurt, a bubble waiting to explode in his chest.

He turns his attention back to the music that’s playing again, turning up the volume and humming along.

Suddenly, Pam sits up and shuts the music completely off.

“What happened?” she asks in a demanding voice, sounding almost frantic. Blaine looks at her in alarm.

“What?” he asks in pure confusion.

“Where did you go? What happened to you Blaine?”

“What on earth are you talking about?” Blaine responds, growing increasingly concerned at his Mother’s sudden outburst, her words making little sense as they spiral at him.

“I miss you! I miss my son,” she runs a stressed hand through her hair.

“Mom,” Blaine slows the car a little and looks over at her. “Please calm down.”

“No, Blaine. You’ve been different since you moved back from New York. Something happened to you, I know it did. And now you won’t talk to me, you won’t tell me anything, you won’t let me help you, and I don’t know what to do Blaine. I’m seeing you again, the real you, happy and carefree and it makes me realize how much I’ve missed you, how much I want my son back,” she sounds close to tears before she slumps back against her seat and Blaine stares at her dumbfounded.

He feels a rush of guilt at seeing how horribly he’s affected his Mother over the past few years, hiding from her, rejecting her help, moving back cold-hearted and bitter without a word of explanation.

He opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out.

“Please, just talk to me,” she pleads, and Blaine looks over to see a tear fall down her cheek.

“Mom,” he breathes quietly, his chest aching. “Please don’t cry.”

“I want you to quit your job, Blaine,” she blurts out, matching his gaze. “It’s destroying us.”

Blaine closes his eyes and breathes, straining to soften the spark of anger that jolts through him.

“Mom,” he tries patiently, keeping his emotions under control in an attempt to have an effective conversation instead of just fighting like they usually do. “I got this job to support us, to support you when you lost your job, you know that. I did this for you, and you act like I’ve committed a crime.”

“Another thing,” Blaine can feel his anger rising, slowly slipping out of his control. “You tell me time and time again how my job is tearing us apart, but you fail to mention your relationship with Dave even one time, the horrible relationship I begged you to get out of for months. That’s what truly tore us apart, don’t you understand that, Mom?”

His Mom is silent, shutting her eyes tightly as more tears slip out. Even as he says the words, Blaine knows he doesn't fully believe them, that there’s still a wide chunk of fault he isn’t owning up to, that he’s purposefully ignoring.

At the same time, he’s fairly confident he’s bringing up a valid point, forcing his Mom to acknowledge the things she tries to pretend don’t exist, the pain and mistakes she uses Blaine as an outlet to blame for.

He’s exhausted, so sick and tired of this whole mess. They’re both too similar, too hypocritical and stubborn to get anywhere, to solve anything, to make any amends.

“Why’d you drop out of NYADA?” she pries earnestly. Blaine tenses.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he answers shortly, attempting to keep his voice even.

“Why’d you move back? What turned you so angry and bitter?” she insists, relentless and persisting until Blaine snaps.

“Dammit, Mom! I don’t want to talk about it!” he yells, his voice thunderous before it shocks the car into a still silence.

He doesn't look over at her again, training his eyes mindlessly on the road. Her soft sniffles drift around the quiet air of the car, slicing into Blaine’s heart.

He knows what she’s saying is fair. He’s a coward, ashamed and afraid and if he just talked to her, told her what happened, then they could rebuild, find a solid ground of trust to anchor them together.

But something in him refuses, grips him pridefully and holds him back tightly from telling her, from admitting he failed and disappointing her, letting one more person down in his life after a never ending stream of countless errors.

And he hates that he reverts so quickly back into his cowering, angry self, after feeling so hopeful, after trying so hard to be better.

The remainder of the drive passes in a tense silence until Blaine pulls up to the curb in front of the Hummel household, his mood effectively shot and a heavy weight settling on his shoulders.

His Mom gets out of the car without speaking a word to him, slamming the door and walking briskly up the driveway, ringing the doorbell before Blaine is even fully out of the car.

The door is open by the time Blaine makes it up the driveway, Burt standing in the entryway as he greets Pam warmly.

“Blaine,” Burt exclaims as Blaine walks up the short porch steps, extending an arm to shake his hand. Blaine grabs his wide palm and shakes it, forcing his best smile before he glances over his shoulder and looks into the house.

The cold ache of his heart melts immediately when he sees him.

Kurt’s standing a few feet behind his Dad, leaning against the railing of the stairs leading down to his room. He’s practically glowing, his soft skin illuminated against the yellow lights of the kitchen flowing from down the hall, his hair perfectly coiffed, his lips pulled into an elegant smile and his eyes sparkling.

Burt steps out of the way to let them in, taking a dish Pam brought from her hands and leading her to the kitchen. His Mom hugs Kurt on her way down the hall before disappearing around the corner, leaving Blaine and Kurt alone in the entryway.

For a moment, all Blaine can do is stand there, his feet planted on the ground and unwilling to move as he stares at Kurt, takes in the beautiful, charming boy in front of him.

Kurt seems to be doing the same thing, his body propped against the railing as his eyes rake over Blaine, softening as his bashful smile grows.

They stand still for a charged moment, chests labored in their breathing before they move toward each other at the same instant, Kurt pulling Blaine into a tight hug.

It’s brief but it’s firm, Kurt’s body strong against him as Blaine squeezes him fiercely, arms wrapping around his thin waist as Kurt clings to his shoulders. He buries his face in the soft crook of Kurt’s neck, inhaling the sweet vanilla skin.

They part quickly, and when Blaine pulls back, Kurt’s searching his face with his brilliant blue eyes.

“Everything alright?” he whispers, probably quieter than necessary. His cautiousness makes Blaine smile.

“It is now,” Blaine dismisses, and Kurt raises his eyebrows. “I’ll tell you about it later,” he promises.

Kurt gives a small nod before drifting forward an inch, pressing his lips softly to the very corner of Blaine’s mouth, practically melting Blaine into a puddle at the endearing action.

“I missed you,” Blaine whispers into his ear and he can see a shiver travel down Kurt’s spine. The sound of footsteps coming from down the hall forces them to jump apart quickly.

They sit in their usual spots around the table for dinner, Kurt sitting next to him the slightest, tiniest bit closer that nobody else would be able to tell or notice, except for Blaine. They pass the food around, dishing servings and filling cups as dinner passes smoothly until Burt turns his attention to Blaine.

“So, Blaine, what do you do?”

Blaine feels his stomach drop, his heart freezing as all the focus in the room narrows, landing around him. Kurt’s fork pauses next to him and his Mom stares at him with challenging eyes, no sign of rescue in them as she waits to see what he’ll say.

“I’m a performer,” Blaine answers calmly, shoving a bite of food into his mouth as Burt nods at him.

“Kurt said something about music?” Burt prompts. Blaine glances over at Kurt, his cheeks flaring a bright pink.

“Yeah. Yeah, I play music,” Blaine says, feeling awful for lying to Burt, especially with his Mom sitting right there, her gaze and hard and unyielding.

Although he’s technically not lying, because he does do music and he is a performer.

Just not necessarily  _together._

“Did you go to school?” Burt continues. Blaine can feel sweat collecting at the base of his neck from the glaring attention placed upon him. Kurt shifts in his chair.

“Blaine went to NYADA,” Pam answers suddenly, boldly, watching Blaine carefully as she speaks. Blaine raises an eyebrow at her.

Is she really going to continue this argument here,  _now?_

“Really?” Burt looks at him impressively and Blaine nods. “That’s where Kurt wants to go, did he tell you that?”

Blaine looks confusedly over at Kurt, whose face has faded from light pink to deep red. He’s staring down at his plate, avoiding Blaine’s eyes.

“Uh, no,” Blaine answers distractedly. “No, he didn’t tell me that.”

There’s a pause of silence where Blaine thinks the conversation is about to shift into something else, until his Mom speaks again.

“Blaine dropped out after his second year,” she supplies. Blaine stares at her disbelievingly, his mouth gaping open.

“Oh, how come?” Burt asks, and Blaine’s grateful for the lack of judgement behind his voice, though the thought is quickly surpassed by the realization that three people are waiting on him for an answer and he has no fucking clue what to say.

“NYADA isn’t for everyone,” Kurt chimes in next to him after the silence stretches to an uncomfortable length. Blaine stares at him in gratitude. “It’s the best performing arts school in the country so I’m sure you can imagine the competitive atmosphere. Truthfully, I’m not even sure I’ll make it a month if I decide to go,” he jokes, lightening the mood slightly.

“Please, Kurt, you’re a bigger diva than Aretha Franklin,” Burt quips. “You’ll be fine.”

Blaine laughs at that, glancing at Kurt again who shoots him a timid smile.

“Do you have any intentions of going back?” Burt asks, and it takes Blaine a minute to realize he’s talking to him again.

“Oh-”

“Yes, Blaine, do you?” his Mom leans forward, intrigued. Burt and Kurt glance between them confusedly, obviously aware they’re missing something.

“Mom,” Blaine warns quietly, begging her to let it go, to not humiliate him in front of Burt, in front of Kurt.

“I’m not sure, I’m just kind of playing it by ear,” Blaine answers after a moment, though he can tell Burt doesn’t really care about his answer anymore, realizing that he’s picked open a sore wound between Pam and Blaine.

“Well that’s fine, you know, a lot of great people didn’t go to-” Burt tries to calm the growing tension, to undo the slew of questions he opened between them, but Pam cuts him off.

“Blaine doesn’t really have solid plans for anything,” she says.

It's as hard as a slap in the face. Blaine can hear Kurt gasp quietly next to him.

It’s a low blow and she knows it, her mouth shutting instantly in evident regret as the words strike Blaine like a hammer. He tries to hide the hurt that flashes across his face, that stings down his body, jabbing pointedly behind his heart.

“Excuse me,” he says quietly, setting down his fork and pushing his chair out. “I’m uh- I’m gonna go for a drive or something,” he mumbles as he stands, glancing down at Kurt who’s staring at him with wide, sad eyes.

He doesn't want to leave Kurt, not after waiting an entire week to see him again, but he can’t spend another moment at the table. He needs to get out, somewhere open and clearing, where he can breathe and regain composure before he loses it and breaks down in front of everybody.

“Blaine,” Pam calls apologetically, but Blaine ignores her, exiting the dining room and throwing his shoes on before he slips out the front door.

…..

The chill of the night air is sharp and whipping against his face, pricking wet tears in the corner of his eye. He’s not sure if they’re from the brisk air or the words his mother just said, but Blaine doesn’t stop them as they fall cold and icy down his cheeks.

He gets to his truck and leans against it, emotions overwhelming him as he rests his forehead on the freezing chrome and screws his eyes shut.

Her words replay in his mind, prod at him over and over again, reminding him of what he’s become, how horribly he’s failed, how he led his life to a meaningless dead end.

It fucking hurts, because he knows she’s right, because he hates being confronted, hates being adamantly told he’s wrong even though he knows he is, even though it’s completely unjust for him to be upset over choices he’s made, over things that were in his control.

He hears the creak of the front door opening suddenly, followed by the quiet shuffling of feet down the driveway before a hand touches him gently, small and comforting, settling at the small of his back. Blaine doesn’t have to look up to guess who it is.

“What are you doing?” Blaine chokes out between shaky breaths.

“I told them I’m coming with you,” Kurt answers, rubbing at his back a little. Blaine turns his head to look at him, making out his silver silhouette, his eyes shining even in the darkness. “Besides, you forgot your jacket,” he says, placing the clothing gently around Blaine’s shoulders. Blaine’s heart beats faster, falls deeper and harder at Kurt’s boundless display of genuine care.

“Thank you,” he sniffles, leaning into him as Kurt wraps his arms around him and kisses Blaine’s temple.

“Come on,” Kurt encourages gently and Blaine straightens up, opening the car door and hopping inside as Kurt rounds the front to get into the passenger seat. As soon as the doors close shut, Blaine leans across the center console and presses his lips to Kurt’s in the dark.

It’s a chaste kiss, nothing more than his closed lips against Kurt’s soft, cold ones, but it warms Blaine down to the core, igniting a fiery rod inside him that grounds him and calms him, gives him the energy to start the car drive away.

The methodical turn of the wheel under Blaine’s hands becomes therapeutic, unwinding the tightly coiled pit in his chest as he guides the car down the paved roads, following the perfectly planned route.

Kurt hums softly into the air, a tune that Blaine can’t quite place and one that he eventually concludes he might be improvising. The sweet sound of it loosens the tension in Blaine’s body, soothes the ache that’s lingering in his throat as he continues to drive aimlessly around Lima.

Eventually, Kurt breaks the comfortable silence.

“Have you ever thought about telling your Mom what happened?”

If it were anyone else, Blaine would tell them to fuck off, to leave him alone, to stop forcing him to think about his situation with his Mom and everything he’s doing wrong.

But it’s not anyone else. It’s Kurt. Kurt, who is loving, and supportive, and kind, who pushes Blaine to be better, who motivates him to be more, who wants nothing but to help him.

So Blaine takes a deep breath, lowers his defenses and talks openly to him, unloading the suffocating weight that’s slowly burying him.

“I know I should,” he says softly. “She deserves to know what happened.”

“And you don’t because…”

“Because I’m prideful? Because I’m terrified of disappointing another person in my life?” Blaine supplies aloud, digging further underneath his suppressed mountain of emotions. “I can’t handle facing one more person who I love and hearing them tell me I’m good for nothing,” Blaine breathes quietly. “I’m a coward.”

“You’re not a coward,” Kurt says immediately. He gives a tiny sigh before continuing. “Blaine, your Mom loves you. She wants to help you. She’s not going to abandon you if you tell her what happened.”

The combination of words hit Blaine roughly, slightly insensitive as he blanches.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t think my Dad was going to abandon me either,” he snaps before he can help it, a top layer of anger festering off, steam that releases hot and fast. Kurt doesn’t shrink back like Blaine expects him to, just looks at Blaine sympathetically.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes. “I shouldn’t have said it like that.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Blaine sighs, energy draining out of him, leaving him feeling regretful and terrible, because he’s the one who keeps screwing everything up and somehow Kurt always manages to say sorry first. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.”

Kurt says nothing, instead reaches for Blaine’s right hand and laces it with his. Blaine squeezes his fingers, gaining the courage to rip himself apart that much further, feeling comfortable and protected and cared for in the safe haven of his car with Kurt beside him.

“Carl was always so proud of me,” he says quietly. “It didn’t matter what I did. He would frame all my grades on the fridge, bring my soccer medals to work just to brag to his co workers, go to every one of my piano recitals in the front row with his video camera and cheer the loudest, even though that was terrible recital etiquette,” he squeaks out a laugh and Kurt laughs, too.

“When I told him I was gay, all of that changed in an instant. He was disgusted with me,” Blaine doesn’t even realize he’s shaking until the wheel gives a jolt and Kurt runs his hand soothingly down his arm. “I lost him. I disappointed him. I can’t lose my Mom, too. She spent everything to get me there. She’ll be ashamed of me.”

They drive in silence for a while as Kurt continues to hum, playing with Blaine’s fingers, tracing the lines on his palm.

“Can I tell you what I think?” he asks after a moment. Blaine nods. He desperately needs to hear what Kurt has to say.

“It’s not fair for me to tell you she won’t abandon you after what happened with Carl, you’re right. But I can see it when she looks at you, Blaine. She loves you, and she’s fighting to get you back,” Kurt shifts in his seat, pulling Blaine’s hand closer to him. “If you lose her, it’ll be because you don’t tell her. Besides, she stayed and supported you when you came out. Do you really think telling her you left NYADA because of a toxic relationship is going to be what drives her away from you?”

Blaine blinks slowly as he stares out at the open road, illuminated in a small close sphere by his headlights, the twinkling lights of the stars shining above them.

Kurt’s exactly right, he realizes.

His Mom did everything she could for him after Carl left, even after he told her he was gay. She never stopped loving him and providing for him, never turned him away, never abandoned him or quit supporting him.

He thinks back to her relationship with Dave, how he desperately begged her countless times to realize she was being manipulated, to realize she was being abused. She knows the exact pain Blaine went through with Michael, he realizes in a sudden jolt of enlightening clarity. Does he really think telling her about Michael will make her cast him away like his Dad did?

Does he really think what he’s doing now is better?

It’s embarrassing and it’s humiliating but there’s no way he can get around that, no away to avoid the truth or make it prettier. It happened. He has to tell her. She might be disappointed, but she’s not going to hate him.

He looks at Kurt wondrously. Blaine’s been living in hell for three years since he left NYADA, and Kurt has managed to straighten out his world in just a few simple words.

“You’re kind of incredible, have I told you that recently?”

“Well,” Kurt smiles. “Not  _recently_.”

Blaine can’t help but laugh, pulling the car off to the side of a random road. Kurt watches Blaine with anticipating eyes as he places the car in park and leans towards him. Grasping his chin between his thumb and pointer finger, Blaine kisses him slowly.

Kurt gives a content moan against his mouth as they kiss, slower and deeper than before, heartfelt and heavy, the stress of the night defusing from Blaine’s body, floating away to the back of his mind.

"I want to take you on a date,” Blaine says suddenly, breathing hotly against Kurt’s mouth.

“We’ve been on a date,” Kurt laughs. Blaine pulls back and kisses the tip of his nose.

“I seem to remember you calling it a ‘fun outing between two potential step brothers’,” Blaine teases.

“I was stupid back then, young and foolish,” Kurt quips as Blaine pecks his cheek.

“That was like, two weeks ago.”

“Are you going to keep worrying about all the small details, or are you going to kiss me, Blaine Anderson?”

Blaine laughs, his heart bursting with affection as he brings their lips together again, soft and swollen as they bite and lick at each other. He can’t get enough of the way Kurt tastes.

“Seriously, where can I take you on a date?” he asks again, his mind refusing to let the idea go.

“Well there’s one restaurant here in Lima and it’s terrible,” Kurt wrinkles his nose. “Plus everyone and their Mother would see us there.” Kurt’s eyes flash with something briefly, a skittering glimpse of an idea that Blaine can tell he wants to say, but he stops himself.

“Tell me.”

“What?”

“Tell me what you’re thinking.”

Kurt bites his lip, something that positively shouldn’t make Blaine feel so weak inside.

“Well, this doesn’t really have to do with that,” he rambles. “I was just thinking… maybe… would you- would you want to come to my regionals performance next week?”

“Kurt,” Blaine says breathlessly, his lips breaking into a smile. “Of course. I’d love to.”

Kurt smiles at him brightly before his face falls.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about NYADA,” he says suddenly, looking down at his hands. “You’re not mad, are you?”

Blaine furrows his eyebrows at him. The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind since Burt mentioned it at the table.

“No, no, Kurt, of course not,” he assures quickly. “I think it’s amazing that you want to go there. Honestly, NYADA needs someone like you to show them what real talent is,” Blaine tells him, and the words ring soundly in their truthfulness as he says them.

It’s so plain to see that Kurt’s destined for something so much greater than he realizes, something commanding and dazzling in a field above everybody else, talented and graceful and a star in every essence of the word.

Kurt flushes, preens under his compliment.

“Come on, Anderson,” he grins cheekily at Blaine. “Let’s go home.”

Blaine presses one last kiss to the sharp corner of his jaw before he slides back into his seat and buckles his seat belt.

“I’m completely lost,” he realizes as he stares out at the road. Kurt giggles loudly, beautiful and chiming.

“See, it’s a good thing you have me.”

It is, Blaine thinks as he drives, Kurt feeding him directions and guiding him safely back to the house.

It really is.

…...

Blaine and Pam dance around each other on egg shells for the next few days, speaking small phrases to the other only when they absolutely have to.

Blaine can tell his Mom feels terrible for what she said, and truthfully, he’s not mad at her anymore about it. He knows he deserves the majority of what she told him.

He just needs time before he decides to tell her everything, needs the perfect moment to open up, and he doesn’t know exactly what he’d say to her now that didn’t involve a discussion about everything between them.

And it’s not exactly like she’s come to apologize to him yet.

“Burt’s invited us to come to Kurt’s show choir performance,” She says to him over breakfast one morning, pushing her oatmeal around aimlessly with her spoon.

“When?”

“Friday night. Does that sound alright?” she asks, less forceful than she normally would.

“Sounds fine,” Blaine replies, lingering in the kitchen for a moment before he gives a short nod and wanders to his room.

A few hours before they’re planning to leave on Friday afternoon, Blaine receives a text from Kurt.

_**Make sure to drive separately tonight. :) XO** _

Blaine stares at his screen for a long time, smiling with fondness and unadulterated excitement.

His Mom doesn’t say anything to him when he says he’ll follow behind her in the truck, just opens her mouth and then closes it abruptly before giving him a small nod and heading out the garage door.

They sit next to Burt at the performance, suffering through some horrendous groups with horribly themed set lists and badly timed choreography, one group’s costumes containing so many sequins Blaine can hardly see the actual people on stage.

Suddenly, an announcement booms loud and clear throughout the theater, welcoming the New Directions to the stage.

“That’s Kurt’s group!” Burt tells them excitedly in a loud voice, earning a glare from the lady in the row in front of them. Blaine chuckles at how proud Burt seems of Kurt, an endearing display that makes Blaine reminiscent of when his father used to watch him with the Warblers.

The New Directions start off with a solo by Rachel, who Blaine recognizes immediately from Puck’s party. A single spotlight illuminates her in the center of the stage in a bright purple dress.

She’s fantastic, Blaine has to admit, singing a powerful rendition of “The Power of Love” by Celine Dion that leaves not a single seat occupied by the end of the song, a wave of people on their feet as the crowd applauds her energetically.

When the rest of the group joins her on stage, Blaine feels all the breath in his body leave his lungs.

It doesn't take him longer than a second to find him, tall and lean and pale, exceedingly vibrant on stage in a bright purple tie and black vest, perfectly tailored black suit pants that leave Blaine's body thrumming at the very sight of him.

He’s breathtakingly gorgeous.

Blaine’s completely captivated by his every move, watching the graceful way he executes every action in sync with the rest of the group, not a second out of rhythm and far more coordinated than one of the boys dancing behind him.

He’s not in front, in fact he hardly ever leaves the back, which makes Blaine enraged, because he commands the stage anyway, draws all the focus to him in a powerfully wielding way that glues Blaine’s eyes to him, not allowing him to look anywhere else, outshining everyone around him without even meaning to.

He stands out, magnetic and entrancing and looking like he was born to be on a stage, born to perform in front of a crowd, flawless and exceptional and Blaine’s so damn proud of him by the end of the performance that his heart flutters rapidly, pounding in his chest, and his throat runs dry.

The crowd goes ballistic at their ending chord, and it comes as no surprise when they win the competition, Blaine standing with Burt and his Mom as they cheer loudly. He sees Kurt scanning the crowd, looking for him.

Their eyes meet from across the theater in a blazing instant and the entire room fades away, the cheers melting into an indistinguishable blur as the energy in the room narrows to only the channel that runs between the two of them, the loud cheer Blaine yells in his direction and the beaming smile Kurt shoots back that Blaine knows is only for him.

The crowd dissipates after the curtain closes, trickling out into the lobby to wait for the performers.

After fifteen minutes or so Kurt comes running towards them, elation and adrenaline apparent on his brightly flushed face, practically glowing with joy.

“Dad!” He yells first, running into Burt’s arms who picks him up and swings him around, the pair laughing together. “Careful, careful, your heart!” Kurt exclaims between breathless laughs.

He looks so adorable Blaine’s heart keens sharply to the brim with untold affection.

“We’re so proud of you, buddy,” Burt says, setting him down and wiping a tear from his eye.

“Thank you,” Kurt gleams, his smile so wide Blaine can barely see his eyes from where his skin is crinkled.

“You were amazing,” Pam says sweetly. Kurt’s gaze falls upon her and then flickers towards Blaine, his smile softening to something shy and unbearably sweet.

“Thank you both for coming, I’m really glad you could make it,” He says sincerely, holding Blaine’s gaze as he speaks, his eyes sparkling in a way that makes Blaine want nothing more than to drag him close and kiss him senseless.

“Your group is incredible, Kurt,” Blaine says kindly, reservedly. “Everything you talked them up to be.”

Kurt’s eyes glance around at their parents before he smiles politely.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” he replies, so calm and collected that Blaine wants to burst out laughing.

“Well,” Kurt clasps his hands together. “Mercedes is having a party at her house, so I’m going to get going. Thank you all for coming.”

He gives them all a hug again, squeezing Blaine tightly for the briefest skip of a moment that leaves Blaine chasing, yearning for more.

Blaine watches him closely, searching for some sort of hidden clue, for some unspoken message, but all he sees is a bright smile on Kurt’s face as he says goodbye to his Dad and walks away.

They stand awkwardly in the lobby for a moment as Blaine wonders helplessly if he’s missed something, if he read too much into Kurt telling him to drive separately.

Kurt’s not actually leaving, is he?

Burt clears his throat and Blaine’s snapped back to the present, suddenly painfully aware he’s third wheeling.

“Oh. Oh, well, um, I’m going to get going then,” he gestures to the front doors. “I, uh, drove separately,” he explains to Burt, who nods.

“Blaine, sweetie, I’ll see you at home, okay?” His mom says. “I think I’m going to go out with Burt. Is that alright?” she asks, trying to reconcile Blaine’s feelings, even though he knows she doesn’t need his permission.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s fine,” he says as impassively as he can. “Bye,” he gives them a small wave before wandering confusedly out the front doors into the chilling air.

Suddenly his phone buzzes, vibrating against his hip. Blaine pulls it out of his pants pockets and stares at the screen, his lips breaking into a wide grin.

_**Don't you dare leave. Meet me behind the theater. <3** _

Blaine laughs breathlessly, his heart pulsing as he races around the building and finds Kurt leaning against the brick wall, his breath coming out in white puffy clouds.

Blaine comes to a halt, panting as he gazes at Kurt’s vivacious smile. He stumbles forward, chest heaving as he catches his breath before grabbing Kurt by the hips and crashing their mouths together.

Kurt laughs against his lips, slinging his arms around Blaine’s neck. Blaine presses him into the wall, claiming his lips roughly, their tongues sliding together smoothly, teeth nipping.

There’s something so invigoratingly exhilarating, filthy and adventurous, about being so secretive, about kissing recklessly behind the theater where there parents could walk out at any minute.

“You were phenomenal,” Blaine punctuates each word with a wet kiss up Kurt’s jaw as Kurt moves restlessly against him, threading his hands in Blaine’s hair.

“Thank you,” he gasps when Blaine tugs his earlobe between his teeth. “My God, someone’s excited.”

“I’ve been waiting all night to do this,” Blaine all but growls, kissing his soft lips again. “You have no idea how beautiful you looked up there,” he slows his movements down, taking time to savor the sweet, tender taste of Kurt against him, kissing his cheek, his nose, his eyelids, finishing back again at his lips.

“I’m so proud of you,” Blaine says softly.

And he is. He’s so proud to have this beautiful boy in his arms, to discover his natural beauty first hand and watch him accomplish outstanding things.

Kurt’s face lights up, breathless and stunning as a light blush travels up his milky freckled cheeks.

“That’s your truck over there, right?”

Blaine follows his pointed finger, spotting where his truck is parked. “Yes?” he answers with a quirked brow. A mischievous glint paints Kurt’s face.

“Thank God,” Kurt sighs. He grabs Blaine’s hand and pulls him. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?” Blaine laughs, letting himself be dragged across the parking lot.

“We,” Kurt wiggles his eyebrows. “Are going on a date.”

……

“This is the park I always come to when I call you,” Kurt grins as Blaine parks, gazing out the windshield at the blackened field illuminated by a few sporadic streets lamps.

Blaine steps out the car, following Kurt where he’s pulling blankets out of the truck bed.

“What the hell?” Blaine laughs. He has no memory of Kurt putting those back there.

“I threw this in the back of your truck on my way into the theater before our performance. Took a risky chance hoping there were no other red Ford F150’s that look like they’re from the stone ages parked there,” Kurt laughs, pulling out another blanket and then a wicker basket. “I told my Dad it was all stuff for Mercedes sleepover.”

Blaine stares at him incredulously, wondering how this boy is actually real, how Blaine is lucky enough to be with him.

“Are we having a picnic?” he marvels.

“Yes, Blaine Anderson,” Kurt says, gathering everything in his arms and coming around the side to place a cold kiss on Blaine’s cheek. “We are.”

“You are unbelievable.”

Kurt winks at him.

“I know.”

……

“Ooh, ooh, okay, I’ve got one,” Blaine laughs, biting at the strawberry Kurt’s dangling over his mouth.

He’s laying on his back, a thick fuzzy blanket underneath him spread out across the damp grass and Kurt laid out on top of him, resting one arm on the blanket and the other on Blaine’s chest. A heavier blanket covers them from above, across Kurt’s back, enveloping them in a heated cocoon against the chilling air of the Fall night.

Kurt looks absolutely angelic above him, outlined by the stars, his hair mused and ruffled in random places, a glowing smile on his pink lips. Blaine traces his fingers up his arm.

“Hit me,” Kurt challenges.

“Okay, middle name, go,” Blaine says and Kurt groans above him.

“What?” Blaine chuckles amusedly.

“You’re going to laugh at me,” Kurt pouts.

Blaine lifts up slightly on his elbows, his chest pressing closer against Kurt’s, and kisses the pout off his lips.

“I promise I won’t. Unless it’s Bartholomew or something like that. Then I can’t promise anything,” Blaine teases as Kurt rolls his eyes affectionately. He bites his lip hesitantly.

“I’ll tell you mine,” Blaine volunteers. “It’s Devon.”

“Mmm,” Kurt hums. “Blaine Devon Anderson. That’s sexy,” he purrs, and Blaine feels something shoot through him, something hot and enticing that makes his body flare.

Kurt has an alarming amount of sexual prowess, more than Blaine figures he’s aware of, despite having no actual experience with sex, and it does unspeakable things to Blaine.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Blaine groans. “Tell me yours.”

“Elisabeth,” Kurt whispers out, so fast Blaine isn’t sure he heard him correctly.

“Elisabeth?” Blaine looks up at him, eyes wide and adoring. Blaine can feel Kurt’s cheeks grow hot with how close they’re positioned to his face.

“Yeah,” Kurt nods shyly, gazing down at Blaine and playing with a button on his collar. When Blaine says nothing, Kurt knits his eyebrows together. “Why aren’t you laughing at me?”

“Why would I laugh at you?” Blaine wonders up at him. It’s just one more thing to add to the list of adorable, unique qualities he’s learning about Kurt that make him fall inexplicably harder and deeper for him, his whole heart plunging into a profound leap.

“Kurt Elisabeth Hummel,” Blaine tries the full name out, sweet and elegant on his tongue, a perfect name to match everything that encompasses Kurt. “Why Elisabeth?”

“It was my Mother’s name,” Kurt says with a soft reverence. Blaine looks at him sympathetically. He hasn’t heard Kurt talk about his Mom before.

Kurt doesn't say anything more though, so Blaine talks, fingers tickling down his back softly.

“It’s gorgeous,” he tells him honestly. “You’re gorgeous,” he emphasizes.

“Hmm, haven’t heard that one before,” Kurt laughs, rolling his eyes affectionately. Blaine laughs with him until he thinks about Kurt’s words and stops, gazing up at the boy above him.

“But you haven’t, have you?”

“What do you mean?” Kurt asks confusedly.

“No one’s ever told you you’re gorgeous before, have they?” Blaine asks and the self-conscious blush that blooms across Kurt’s cheeks answers him better than any words could.

“No,” Kurt says quietly.

“Well, somebody has to make up for the last eighteen years,” Blaine smiles, entranced by Kurt’s beautiful eyes peering down at him. “So I’m going to keep telling you, Kurt Hummel. I’m going to keep telling you until you believe me.”

Kurt stares speechlessly at him.

“And if I could,” Blaine continues. “I would shout it out to the entire world. To everyone. To our parents, to those meatheads at your school who think the same thing but are too scared to admit it. I would tell everyone that I think you are absolutely, utterly, astoundingly gorgeous.”

“Blaine,” Kurt breathes, tears welling in his eyes, his lips are curled helplessly into a flustered smile. Blaine cups his hands around his mouth.

“I think Kurt Hummel is the most gorgeous boy I’ve ever seen!” He yells into the night sky, his voice echoing around the empty, silent park. Kurt buries his head into Blaine’s chest, laughing.

“Oh my God, you are such a dork,” he giggles, the muffled sound vibrating against Blaine’s shoulder.

Blaine knows he’s being cheesy and a bit ridiculous, but it feel so damn good, so easy and natural to be his carefree self around Kurt, to let go and be silly because everything between them is sweet and relaxed, open and safe and Blaine knows Kurt won’t judge him for it, knows Kurt would never criticize him and make him hide those imperfect, goofy sides of himself like Michael would.

They settle into a comfortable silence as Kurt burrows down further into his arms. An icy wind blows across the park, rustling the withering leaves. Blaine pulls the blanket tighter around them both, trapping their heat against them and wrapping his arms fully around Kurt’s back, Kurt settling his weight down on top of him completely.

“Tell me about him,” Blaine says after a moment, his lips brushing the silky tops of Kurt’s hair as he speaks.

“About who?” Kurt asks.

“About future NYADA graduate, tony award winning, world renowned Broadway star Kurt Hummel,” Blaine says. He can feel Kurt suck in a breath against him. “And don’t pretend he doesn’t exist,” Blaine adds. “Because if I’ve learned one thing about you, it’s that you overthink everything to the smallest meticulous detail.”

“Excuse me,” Kurt laughs, pinching his side lightly. There’s silence for a moment before Kurt speaks again. “Well, he’ll probably start off somewhere off Broadway, in a small role of course, a humble role in the ensemble that he’ll be grateful to have because at least it’s something,” Kurt speaks dreamily, his voice carrying an aspiring tone that makes Blaine admire him even further. “And then maybe he’ll get frustrated with that and move onto costumes, designing things backstage and working until he lands an audition, a breakout role in a revival of Chicago, or Cabaret, or something along those lines.”

“Naturally,” Blaine acknowledges.

“Or maybe he’ll write a brand new show and star in it, originate a role and win a thousand different Tony’s, one for director, and writer, and male lead, and costumes, of course,” Kurt speaks with a determined weight, a substantialness that indicates to Blaine he’s thought through this numerous times before.

“He sounds ambitious.”

“Oh he is,” Kurt agrees. “He has to be, if he wants to make it.”

“You know, Kurt, I don’t doubt for a second that you can achieve all that,” Blaine says. Kurt sits up on his elbows, looking down at him.

“You really mean that?”

“I really do.”

He does. He’s seen how much Kurt is capable of already, how incredibly impactful he is on the lives of everyone around him without having any idea. Blaine knows with certainty, whatever he does, he’ll do it successfully, no matter how hard he has to work at it.

Kurt brings a hand up to run through Blaine’s hair, carding through his curls and staring down at him with a gentle smile until his eyes flicker up to his hand and fix on Blaine’s hairline.

Ever so carefully, he lowers his lips and presses a soft kiss to the long scar at the top of Blaine’s forehead, the jagged pink one from where Carl struck him. It’s so compassionate that Blaine feels a lump swell rapidly in his throat, overwhelmed by how secure he feels with Kurt.

Kurt trails his kisses lower until their lips slot together slowly, a deep kiss that causes Blaine’s hands to rise and frame his jaw, hold him in place as he moves against him steadily.

Eventually, Kurt lowers his head back onto Blaine’s chest and Blaine takes a turn to run his finger through the soft, long strands of Kurt’s chestnut brown hair.

“This has been the best first date ever,” Kurt whispers.

“It was all you, sweetheart,” the endearment slips out of Blaine’s mouth for the second time now, something that feels natural and right and sacred, like it was created and reserved for Kurt. He gauges Kurt’s reaction, and when Kurt tightens his arm around Blaine’s waist, giving a small hum, Blaine figures he likes it.

……

They stay cuddled together on the grass until Midnight, when Blaine drives Kurt back to his house and kisses him a long, sweet goodbye.

He begins the lengthy drive back to Columbus, his face fixed in a smile that he can’t shake off, his mind buzzing from their date, his heart growing warmly.

He contemplates everything as he travels down the empty freeway, how much Kurt inspires him, how hopeful and optimistic he feels in his presence, with a newfound purpose and renewed love for life. He decides that it’s as good a time as any to tell his Mom, to start healing all the wounds and scars in his life carefully and beautifully and wholly, like Kurt is teaching him how to do.

She’s asleep when he gets home, like he expected she would be, so Blaine goes to bed, texting Kurt goodnight and another ‘thank you’ for his thoughtful date. He formulates a speech in his head as he drifts off, gathering bits and pieces of his courage and building it slowly into a plan that will allow him to speak to his Mom, to begin to heal everything that’s holding him back.

His Mom is sitting at the kitchen table when he enters for breakfast the next morning, eating her usual oatmeal and coffee. Blaine comes and sits next to her at the table, taking her hand in his.

They sit in silence for a while, the connection between them far more heartwarming and nostalgic than Blaine would like to admit.

He’s  _missed_ his Mom.

He takes a deep breath, summons all his bravery, and then-

“Mom, I-”

“Blaine, I have to tell you something,” she blurts out, cutting into his words.

The words she speaks next knock everything Blaine was about to say out of his mind, right off his tongue and straight out of his mouth.

“Burt’s asked us to move in with him and Kurt."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my lovely readers! I'm so happy to be back!
> 
> First off, I'd like to apologize for how long it took me to update. Sadly, I don't think my updates will be weekly anymore now that I've gone back to school; however, they hopefully shouldn't take as long as this one did. In the past month I have endured the worst case of writers block I've ever experienced. There were several days were I contemplated banging my head into a wall just to see if I could restart my brain because I wanted to continue this story so desperately, but couldn't find the will to do it.
> 
> Secondly, this chapter is disgustingly fluffy (oops?) and deals with some details from Blaine's past that you may have forgotten about! If that's the case, you can refresh your brain in chapters two and five!
> 
> And finally, I'm so immensely grateful for all of your support. I love this story line deeply, and I cannot expressed how thrilled I am to be over my writer's block and back on track to bring you all more. There's lots ahead for these boys.
> 
> Thank you, thank you, thank you! You make this all worth it! As always, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. <3


	8. Beautifully Broken Pt. 1

[ _Eleven years ago_ ]

Her hands are thin and fragile where Kurt grasps them in his small fingertips.

“I don’t understand, Mommy,” he whimpers. He’s not sure why he’s crying, because what his Mommy is saying doesn’t make sense, but she’s crying, and that makes him feel sad. Her brilliant blue eyes water, trickling like a clear stream.

“You don’t right now, sweetie, but you will someday,” she speaks softly, barely above a whisper. Kurt thinks she looks kind of like an angel, her hair spread wistfully across the white pillow, a glow shining around her body.

“I love you, my darling Kurt,” she strokes her hand across his cheek. “Always remember to be true to yourself.”

“I love you, too, Mommy,” he replies, pulling his blankie closer to him, his tears dripping onto the soft fabric.

He sits on his Daddy’s knee, who’s kneeling against the side of the low bed, holding his Mommy’s other hand gently.

“I love you, Elisabeth,” His Daddy cries. Kurt wipes away a tear trickling down his Daddy’s cheek with his small hand, wet and warm and salty on his fingers.

“I love you, Burt,” she smiles, and then she kisses each of their hands, Kurt’s small fist and then Burt’s wide palm.

“Let me go now.”

There’s a prolonged beeping that rings harshly through Kurt’s ears. He buries his face into his Daddy’s chest to muffle the sound.

When he looks back, she’s gone.

……..

 

“You...what?” Kurt’s mouth hangs open in sheer disbelief. “I-I don’t understand.”

His Dad leans back against the marble counter top, sliding his hands into the large front pockets of his jeans and gazing out at Kurt from underneath the thick bill of his cap.

“I said, I asked Pam and Blaine to move in with us.”

“Yeah, no... I got that part,” Kurt says slowly. The words barrel into him, jamming confusedly into his brain, so thick and heavy that he can barely process them. “That’s not what I don’t understand.”

There’s an icy chill hardening around the edges of his voice that he can’t quite seem to locate the source of, his body stiffening against his control. 

“Then… what… what don’t you understand?” Burt asks warily, eyeing Kurt as if he’s a spooked animal.

The disconnect between Kurt’s brain and mouth deepens with every passing second as the initial shock of his Dad’s news fades and flames of pure anger take over, licking at him like a scalding white-hot fire. He opens his mouth and closes it, struggling to form words.

He can’t help but feel utterly betrayed when he looks at his Dad, hurt burrowing it’s way deep into his heart.

“You… you said my opinion is just as important to you as your own,” Kurt’s voice shakes as he speaks.

“It is-”

“That’s not true!” Kurt yells, suddenly finding the strength behind his words. The small trickle of rage that was filling him before floods him at full speed.

“Kurt, Pam and I both discussed this, and we think this is the best thing for our relationship, for our families,” Burt tries evenly.

“You didn’t think to consult me about this before asking her?” Kurt splutters incredulously. “This is my life, too! This is my home, too! Does that not matter to you?”

“Of course it matters to me, Kurt,” Burt says earnestly, but the statement feels hollow to Kurt, distorted and erroneous after what he’s just been told. 

How could his Dad possibly decide something so drastic without asking him?

He hates feeling helpless, hates the frantic feeling of things being beyond his control, and his Dad knows that. He honors that. He’s always provided Kurt with a safe home, the one place where Kurt feels heard, and seen, and validated, unlike the rest of the world, the cruel world that ignores him and labels him, insignificant and incompetent.

How could his Dad take that voice away from him?

“I thought… I thought you would be happy about this, Kurt,” Burt says, his voice strained and a concerned gleam in his eye. “Don’t you get along with Blaine?”

Tears well behind Kurt’s eyes as he barks out a bitter laugh. His Dad is missing the point exceptionally.

“This isn’t about Blaine, Dad! This isn’t about Pam! This is about the fact that you’re making a life altering change to our family, and you didn’t even ask me first if I’d be okay with it!”

Kurt has to leave then, tears spilling over his eyelashes as he runs down the stairs to his room, leaving Burt to stand helplessly in the kitchen.

He doesn’t make it to his bed, sliding down the thick wood of his bedroom door as soon as it’s shut behind him. He pulls his legs tight against his chest and buries his face into his knees, sobs racking through his body as he cries until he runs dry inside.

Kurt doesn’t often allow himself to indulge in the sadness of losing his Mother all those years ago, though the pain is always there in some small underlying form. There’s nothing he can change about the situation, so he figures letting it consume him is futile.

He was sad, but he was young, and so he chooses instead to use it as a motivation, a reverent sort of remembrance that compels him to always be the best version of himself in his Mother’s honor.

Sitting against the door, at the crossroads of a new life, it washes over him in a way it hasn’t since he was a small boy, in a way he thought time had softened, twisting his heart from the inside out. He lets himself remember, the softness of her smile, the comfort of her nurturing arms, the delicacy of her ailing touch.

Though Kurt’s always missed his Mother, he’s always taken some comfort in knowing that her spirit, her memory, was alive and vivid in their home, in the parenting of his father, in the traditions they carried, in the features and mannerisms of Kurt himself.

Suddenly, the subtle pain of his Mother’s absence in his life morphs into something deeper, something more achingly real as it slips out of his grasp instantaneously and abruptly, without his control.

It feels to Kurt as if she’s passing all over again, the fading of her influence in their family just as impactful as her physical death all those years ago.

What seizes his heart the hardest, is that his Dad didn’t give him an opportunity to come to terms with the change, to feel like he had some authority, some choice in making the substantial decision of letting those memories go, of welcoming something new.

It feels as if his way of life has been stolen from him, and as he sobs, he knows what he said is true; that this isn’t about Blaine, and it isn’t about Pam, it’s about his Mother, it’s about his family. The foundation of trust he holds to his Dad feels fractured, undermined by a sense of irrelevance towards Kurt’s feelings.

He cries until his body is strung out and stiff. The walls of his room begin to feel confining. He needs fresh air, somewhere to contemplate.

His mind immediately draws upon a thought, instinctively, like he can’t help but be pulled toward him.

He needs to hear him. He needs his reassuring words. 

Standing, he dries his eyes and grabs his coat from the closet, slinging it over his shoulders before walking up the stairs.

His Dad is still standing in the kitchen where he left him, looking distraught. Kurt walks briskly past him.

“Kurt-”

“I’m going to the park. I’ll be home to make dinner. Please, don’t come after me.”

There’s silence as Kurt grabs his keys. He looks up briefly, just long enough to get confirmation, and a small, dejected nod from his Dad is sufficient enough to send him out the door, hopping into his car and driving away with shaky breaths.

He pulls up to the curb of the park, parking his car and crossing the wide field of grass. He settles underneath a tree, the same tree he laid underneath with Blaine, warm breath ghosting softly across blushing skin, wandering fingertips and secure hands holding each other close, bodies pressed together and hearts beating in tandem as he gazed down into beautiful golden irises, gentle like dying embers in the glow of the night sky, reflecting the stars above him.

“Hey, cutie.”

Kurt hasn’t even realized he’s called him, his fingers working swiftly out of habit.

“Hi,” Kurt breathes quietly.

There’s a lingering sigh of silence between them as Kurt gathers his thoughts, but it’s not awkward, just comforting as Kurt listens to his even breathing, trying to piece together the scraps of his fluttering heart.

“So,” Blaine eventually prompts.

“So.”

“We’re going to live together.”

“Yeah,” is all Kurt can manage to say, the hurt of the afternoon still fresh and weighing on his tongue.

“You sound disappointed,” Blaine says, and there’s no teasing heat behind his words, but rather a subtle inquisitiveness. He sounds a little disappointed himself, the tone of his voice falling softer.

“I-I… I’m not disappointed exactly…” Kurt stutters, trying to sort through his emotions. He hasn’t even really considered how he feels about Blaine living in his home yet, not with everything else rushing through his mind. That will hit him later. 

He can practically hear Blaine’s patient silence, encouraging him to take his time. “It’s just… he didn’t ask me, Blaine.”

“Your Dad?”

“Yeah. He didn’t even ask me how I felt about this, he just told me as an afterthought,” a tear slips down Kurt’s cheek, and Jesus, he thought he couldn’t possibly cry more.

Blaine gives him a quiet hum, and Kurt takes hold of the opening, pressing on.

“I feel like… like he doesn’t care about my feelings. I don’t even know how I feel about this yet. I’m-I’m not totally certain I’m opposed,” Kurt realizes suddenly. “I just wish I had been given the chance to consider it for myself first, to give my consent before he made the decision. It’s my life too, you know?”

“I know,” Blaine agrees, his support soothing Kurt’s rampant heart. “I’m sorry. That must be frustrating.”

“God, It is!” Kurt chokes out around an irritated sigh, pulling his coat tighter around himself as he watches a dried leaf detach from its twig and spiral gracefully toward the ground. “It’s such a big thing. I feel kind of… betrayed. Is that stupid?”

“Not at all,” Blaine says softly, and Kurt feels himself longing to be wrapped in his comforting arms, another tear drifting slowly down the slope of his cheek.

“How do you feel about all this?” he asks after a moment. 

“Well,” Blaine begins, and then he pauses, clearly thinking. “I think for my Mom at least, it’s a really, really good change.”

“And for you?” Kurt asks eagerly, unsure of what exactly he’s wanting to hear, just that he desperately wants to know everything Blaine’s feeling.

“For me,” Blaine says softly. “It’s absolutely wonderful, because I’ll get to be around the most amazing boy I’ve ever met every single day.”

There’s a smile to his voice, a smile that makes Kurt’s heart calm peacefully and warmly, his own lips curling at the sweetness of Blaine’s words.

“What about my family? How do you feel about… my Dad and all that?”

Blaine’s quiet for a moment before he speaks.

“I guess it’s different for me. Maybe because I’m older, I don’t know. Maybe because of the way my own Dad left,” his voice catches a little on the words, and Kurt reflexively squeezes his fingers, wishing he was holding Blaine’s hand in his. “I don’t really think of it as my family. It’s just my Mom’s relationship, completely detached from me. And I think she really, really needs your Dad.”

Kurt thinks about Blaine’s words. He understands what he’s saying, but no matter how hard he tries to make himself disconnect and view it like that, it doesn’t feel the same way to him.

“Can I ask you something?” Blaine says.

“Anything,” Kurt replies. He’d let Blaine ask him anything.

“If your Dad had asked for your input first, what would you have thought about me and my mom moving in?”

Kurt considers, trying to pinpoint the center of his uneasiness.

He knows that Pam makes his Dad happy, and no matter how angry he feels now, he wants that for his Dad, more than anything. He’s already come to terms with that. It’s the same reason he was initially so hesitant with Blaine, the same reason they’re hiding everything between them now.

And Blaine. Ever since he stayed the week with Kurt, Kurt’s missed his presence every moment he hasn’t been around, wishing to be with him constantly, yearning to be with him now.

He’ll get to be with him all the time, to see him and kiss him and learn everything about him. He’ll never have to miss him, never have to ache for him, never have to wait days to see his beautiful face. That thought alone makes a thrill run through Kurt, the kind that leaves his heart thumping giddily, the kind that leaves him exhilaratingly terrified, yet so utterly excited.

He wants Blaine around him everyday. He wants his Dad to be happy. He wants a change that will begin to heal the cracks between Pam and Blaine, that will make both of them happier.

Because he cares deeply for them, all three of them. 

“I would’ve said yes,” Kurt realizes. “It’s a lot to consider but… yes, I would’ve said yes.”

“Your Dad loves you, Kurt,” Blaine reminds him, and the words send a pang through Kurt. “You know that, right?” he asks, and Kurt screws his eyes shut tightly.

Of course he knows that. His Dad loves him selflessly and wholeheartedly, with everything he is, devoting his entire life to care for Kurt protectively and compassionately, supporting him in every time of need. A reminiscent wave crashes into Kurt, heart felt memories and images of his Dad sacrificing more than Kurt could ever repay him for running through his mind. 

His Dad loves him, and he loves his Dad. More than anyone. That’s the way it always has been and will be forever.

Hearing the words from Blaine, whose father abandoned him, who hasn’t had the love Kurt receives on a daily basis in years, makes Kurt’s heart fill with guilt rapidly, the anger quickly draining out of him, replaced by profuse gratitude.

“Yes, I do,” Kurt nods, wiping a tear from his eye. “I do know that.” 

“Don’t be too hard on him. He’s excited. My Mom is good for him, I know you know that. We can both see it,” Blaine reasons, soothing and positively wonderful to Kurt’s troubled mind. “I think he’s trying to make everyone happy, and he’s learning what it means to be happy again himself in that way. He’s remembering what it means to be in love.”

Kurt grips the phone tightly as more tears slip down his cheeks. All that remains inside of him is the desire to run to his Dad, to be swallowed up by his strong, loving arms, to forgive him and beg for forgiveness in return. 

“How do you do this?” He marvels through a sniffle. “How do you always know what to say?”

“Boyfriend instincts?” Blaine teases and Kurt stills, his heart stopping.

“Boyfriend?”

“Oh,” Blaine pauses awkwardly. “Is that… I guess… Is that not what we are?”

Kurt’s heart flips uncontrollably. “I just haven’t heard you say it before. I wasn’t sure-”

“Kurt Hummel?”

“Yes?”

“Allow me to officially ask you. Would you do me the honor of becoming my boyfriend?”

Kurt’s lips split into a grin as his heart pulses double it’s normal speed. “I would love to,” he beams, the sky seeming to brighten above him, radiant sunlight bursting through the dreary clouds. “God, I cannot wait to have you around everyday.”

His body is filled with overwhelming reassurance, a peace that settles deep inside him as his tears begin to slow. 

Everything is okay. 

With Blaine, everything is beautiful.

“I need to go talk to my Dad,” Kurt sniffles. He can’t stand to let another minute go by being angry at him. “Thank you, Blaine.”

“You’re welcome, beautiful,” Blaine says gently, and Kurt’s heart softens further, melting inside his chest. “Everything is going to work out, okay?”

“Okay,” Kurt nods. He believes him.

He drives back to the house, taking a deep breath before entering the front door to find his Dad sitting in the living room, watching a football game, though he looks terribly distracted. He glances up at Kurt with wide eyes when he walks in.

“Hey, Bud,” he begins tentatively, and everything inside Kurt breaks.

“Dad,” he sobs, falling to his knees next to his recliner chair. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” he cries. Burt slides out of the chair and drops to his knees beside him, pulling Kurt into his arms.

“I’m sorry too, kiddo,” he says, his voice thick with trembling emotion as he holds Kurt, the pair huddled together on the floor. “I made a mistake, Kurt. I don’t want you to ever think I don’t value your feelings.”

Kurt lifts his head to see tears falling down his Dad’s face, his heart sinking in guilt and regret at the rare sight.

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that,” Kurt apologizes, his voice groggy.

“I should’ve asked you first,” his Dad counters, hugging Kurt tighter. “I love you, Kurt.”

“I love you too, Dad,” Kurt sobs into his shoulder. His Dad’s sturdy arms envelope him tightly, his home, his comfort, his safety.

Burt strokes the back of his head protectively, before whispering gruffly, “I won’t do it, Kurt. I won’t have them move in with us, not if you don’t want them to.”

Kurt pulls back again to look his Father sincerely in the eye. “Dad, I want them to move in. I want you to be happy.”

Burt nods, a tear slipping down his cheek that pulls on Kurt’s heart with it’s descent.

“I miss Mom,” Kurt whispers around a whimper.

“Oh, Kurt,” Burt breathes, a doleful sadness shimmering deep in his eyes. “Me too, Son. Me too. Every day.”

“I don’t want this to take her from us completely.”

“Never,” Burt says firmly. “It will never take her. She’ll always be with us.”

Kurt nods, clinging to his Dad.

“This will never erase what we had with her, okay Kurt? This will never replace what I have with you. Do you understand me?”

Kurt clasps his Dad’s hands and breathes deeply. For the first time since this whole thing started, he thinks he finally does.

“You deserve another chance, Dad.”

“Thank you,” Burt nods, and he looks Kurt firmly in the eye, the solid love behind his expression grounding Kurt. “We deserve another chance, both of us, kid.”

Kurt nods, burying his face into his Dad’s chest as he embraces him again, the quiet sounds of their reconciling sniffles filling the air.

He’s not sure why it’s this moment, this moment where he feels broken open and raw, torn apart and sewn back together into hundreds of careful pieces, that becomes the catalyst to bring him to the pacifying realms of closure.

A memory, vivid and bright as day, plays in his mind, deep from the tender recesses of his heart.

_Let me go now._

And Kurt knows, with an assured, determined mind, that she’ll never leave him.

She’ll always be a part of him. She’ll always be a fundamental part of their family, irreversible in her grace, instrumental in her love and beauty.

And Kurt can let her go.

Because letting her go doesn’t mean she’s leaving them. It doesn’t mean forgetting her. It doesn’t mean replacing her.

Letting her go means moving on, allowing them to grow into something exquisitely reborn and new, using her love and memory as the foundation to build into something greater, adding on to what they already possess with the beautiful dimension of deeper love. 

Letting her go means giving them a second chance, and Kurt believes that’s what she’d truly want for them.

………

Kurt’s peace with the matter as a whole does little to help soothe his nerves on the chilly, Saturday morning when Blaine and Pam arrive with a half sized moving truck and two cars.

This isn’t just another dinner. It isn’t a one day get together. With their arrival comes all of their belongings, and the realization that they aren’t leaving, that this is their home now.

Kurt stands on the porch, wrapped in a blanket as he watches Blaine pull his truck up against the curb and hop out. He looks gorgeous, his curls freshly drying from a shower, his eyes shining bright and his smile wide.

Burt and Pam meet with the moving truck driver at the end of driveway, settling payments while Blaine walks past them, finding his way up the lawn to the porch.

“Funny seeing you here,” Kurt teases as he approaches, aching to fling himself into his arms and claim his lush lips in a kiss. The tip of Blaine’s nose is chilled red, his eyes vibrantly animated against the bleak yard.

“Good morning beautiful,” Blaine says flirtatiously, his voice low and quiet. He stops a few feet away from Kurt, near the porch railing, craning forward on the balls of his feet as if he’s trying to restrain himself from walking straight into Kurt’s arms.

Kurt swallows heavily, his eyes shifting nervously towards their parents. Blaine raises an amused eyebrow. “Relax Kurt, they can’t hear me.”

“No, but I can, and I’m not very good at hiding my swooning,” Kurt smiles shyly at Blaine, positive he’s blushing.

Blaine gives him a small smirk before his eyes fill with a soft admiration and he tilts his head.

“You okay?”

“I’m kind of nervous,” Kurt admits.

Blaine watches him for a moment. “How come?”

Kurt takes a deep breath. “This is a big change,” he glances again at Pam and his Dad. “I’m really glad you’re here though,” he looks back at Blaine, whose gaze still rests fixated on Kurt, his smile edging wider.

“Me too,” His voice is sweet, and softer than it usually is, his eyes sincere under his fanning eyelashes, and Kurt has to hold himself back from kissing his cheek, his stomach flipping with desire. A sharp wind whips through the air and Kurt pulls the blanket around him tighter, wishing he could snuggle underneath it with Blaine’s added body warmth.

“Boys!” Burt calls. “Come down here!”

“Look, he’s already ordering you around,” Kurt rolls his eyes and Blaine laughs loudly, his hand brushing subtly across the small of Kurt’s back as they cross the lawn. The small connection of Blaine’s barely there fingertips is electrifying, leaving Kurt chasing for more.

They begin unloading cardboard boxes, which is essentially all Pam and Blaine brought, aside from a few small pieces of furniture.

“Ooh,” Kurt says excitedly, picking up a box labeled ‘Kitchen’. “What treasures are inside here?” he wonders, and Pam laughs.

“I brought a few things I figured you might not already have, though your Father tells me you’re a very competent chef,” she follows Kurt into the kitchen, setting the boxes down on the island.

“I like to cook here and there,” Kurt tells her. He knows he’s playing down how often he cooks for him and his Dad, but he doesn’t want to seem defensive of the territory, or make her feel like she can’t use the kitchen, too.

“I’d love to learn some of your recipes,” she tells him warmly, and Kurt studies her expression for a moment. Her nose has the same offset as Blaine’s, just slightly crooked to the right, her eyes a matching shade of brilliant hazel. As Kurt searches them, he comes to the conclusion that she means it genuinely, her emotions open and vulnerable, exposed through her irises the same way Blaine’s are.

“I’d like that,” Kurt feels himself smiling, the idea of having Pam in his home slowly warming up to him in an extremely comforting way.

Kurt spends some time re arranging the family room to fit with the new pieces of Pam’s furniture, a small coffee table that Kurt decides actually looks very fitting in their home, and a blue chair that seems a bit odd to Kurt, but he doesn’t question it.

They work together to unload the boxes in the kitchen, organizing Pam’s tools and appliances to fit with Kurt’s materials while Blaine and Burt continue to unload boxes from the truck. The silence between them is just slightly on the side of awkward, but not unfriendly, and it eases Kurt’s nerves marginally.

“I think I’m going to start unpacking my room,” Pam says, heading towards the stairs. “Maybe you could lend Blaine a hand?” she suggests, and Kurt gives a perfectly normal sized grin and polite nod, though his insides are flipping.

He makes his way down the hallway to the guest room Blaine slept in while he was staying with Kurt, which is evidently now his bedroom. He stops when he gets there, leaning against the open door frame and watching Blaine for a moment.

Blaine sits in the middle of the room on the floor, his back to Kurt, obviously engrossed in something he’s found while unpacking.

“Need some help in here?” Kurt breaks the silence, and Blaine’s head snaps up, a grin spreading across his face.

“Most definitely,” he smiles. “C’mere.” 

He reaches out a hand toward Kurt, pulling him to the ground next to him once their palms link together and sliding his hand around the back of Kurt’s neck, tipping his head back to meet his lips in a soft kiss.

“That’s the proper hello I wanted to give you earlier,” Blaine breathes against his lips when they part.

“I think you need to say hello again,” Kurt mummers, pressing a wet off centered kiss to the corner of Blaine’s mouth that ends up more on his teeth with how wide his smile grows.

“Our parents are upstairs,” Blaine points out, a hint of challenge in his voice.

“Key word being upstairs.”

Blaine chuckles before pulling Kurt’s neck gently toward him again, their lips closing together, slow and slippery and lovely.

“What’s that?” Kurt leans back, noticing the book that rests on Blaine’s lap.

“It’s uh,” Blaine clears his throat, picking the book up in his hands. “It’s actually a book of pictures from my sophomore year winter showcase at NYADA. Every finalist gets one. I honestly forgot I had it, I’m pretty sure I buried it in the back of my closet somewhere.”

“Can I look at it?” Kurt bites his lip, hoping he isn’t overstepping any boundaries. Blaine looks at him for a moment before his eyes soften and he nods silently, his shoulder brushing against Kurt’s as he hands him the book.

Kurt turns the book over in his hands a few times, the glossy material of the cover sliding against the skin of his palms.

“Is it difficult to be a finalist?”

Blaine gives a bitter snort next to him, watching Kurt’s hands as they run over the book.

“Not as difficult as it should be. I mean, you do need to be talented, yes, but at that point it kind of comes down to whoever is Carmen Tibiduex’s favorite, not who actually deserves it.”

Kurt flips open the book, scanning through the pages. There’s photos of various finalists deep in performance, raised hands and open mouths and glimmering eyes, some standing near pianos, some with costumes and props, some without anything at all.

His eyes catch on a page, a large photo of Blaine in the center. Unlike any of the other finalists, Blaine’s actually sitting at the piano himself, his fingers spread out over the keys, his head tilted in concentration, his features lost in passion. He’s wearing a beautiful tuxedo, his hair richly blown out and styled in a way Kurt’s never seen it. 

He looks younger, but not a great deal. There’s something else Kurt notices about him right away that’s a larger difference. His cheek bones are sunken in slightly, dark bags drooping under his eyes, visible even through the layer of makeup that’s been used to hide them, and his eyes are lifeless, the fire that’s usually burning brightly in them diminished.

“Blaine, you look…” Kurt trails off, a sadness washing over him at how clearly miserable Blaine looks.

“Handsome? Charming?” Blaine teases next to him, distant pain audible in his joking tone.

“Well, yes,” Kurt blushes, because Blaine does look incredibly handsome. “Sad is actually what I was going to say.”

He looks up at Blaine, who gives him a small shrug and a resigned sigh. “It was a difficult time.”

“I’m sorry,” Kurt’s heart aches seeing visible proof of the hell Blaine went through.

“It’s not your fault.”

“I know, but no one should have to go through that.”

“What’s done is done,” Blaine gives a sad smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. Something about his dismissive tone makes Kurt upset, though he’s not sure what he’s expecting Blaine to do instead. 

“Things are better now,” Blaine looks at him deeply, holding his gaze with a profoundness behind his eyes that makes Kurt shiver.

“Yeah?” Kurt asks, his heart pounding. 

“Yeah,” Blaine replies. 

The air between is heavy with anticipation as the room seems to still, the earlier playful atmosphere shifting quickly into something deeper, something with a terrifying enormity that Kurt’s never felt before. Blaine’s stare is so intense that Kurt feels increasingly vulnerable with every passing breathless second.

Eventually Kurt breaks eye contact, his head spinning as he looks back down at the book. “Uh… where were you planning on putting this?”

Blaine seems to spring into action then, the tension snapping between them and calming.

“I’m not sure yet. You can just put it on the bed for now.”

Kurt stands and places the book on the bed, his eye catching on something resting against a pile of boxes in the corner.

“You play the guitar?” Kurt all but squeals at the thought. Blaine wiggles his eyebrows.

“Maybe.”

“I’d love to hear you play sometime,” Kurt tells him, eager to witness more of Blaine’s natural talent and effortless passion.

“I haven’t played for a while,” Blaine looks at the guitar, then smiles beautifully at Kurt. “Maybe I’ll play something for you before I leave for work later.”

He says it casually, moving on to inspect another box, but the words shock Kurt.

In this entire ordeal, he realizes suddenly, he hasn’t once considered Blaine’s work. Some part of him assumed in the back of his mind that Blaine would quit his job, and to Kurt that seems like the logical conclusion. It’s not exactly like he has a reason to continue working there now that they live with Kurt and his Dad, not to mention the ridiculously long commute.

It hadn’t occurred to Kurt that Blaine might keep his job, or keep dancing while living with them, while dating Kurt. 

“Right,” Kurt answers distractedly, the thought settling uncomfortably in his heart. He pushes it away, deciding it’s an issue he can deal with later.

“Will you take that box to the bathroom?” Blaine points across the room. Kurt walks over to the box and picks it up, unable to resist peeking inside.

“Oh my God,” he says in complete surprise, before bursting into giggles. Blaine looks confusedly over at him. “Are you sure it’s this box, Blaine?”

“What?” Blaine says jumping to his feet, his cheeks turning red. “What’s in there?”

“Oh my God!” Kurt repeats, doubling over in laughter. “Blaine this is the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.”

Blaine stops at his side and peers into the box, his eyes widening. “Jesus Christ, give that to me.”

“You have a bow tie collection?” Kurt asks between breaths, his smile only widening at Blaine’s flustered expression.

“Stop it.”

“Blaine, no, wait,” Kurt pouts when Blaine snatches the box from his hands. “I want to see them!”

“I don’t wear them anymore,” Blaine shakes his head, an embarrassed smile tugging shyly at his lips at Kurt’s insistent giggling. The thought of Blaine wearing bow ties is strangely adorable and endearing to Kurt, a sweet spot that he’s discovered by accident but has no intention of letting go.

“Why not?”

“I don’t know,” Blaine shrugs, turning away from Kurt. Kurt follows after him, hooking his chin on Blaine’s shoulder and sliding his arms around his waist. The clean smell of Blaine invades his senses and he breathes it in deeply, loving the way it calms him, the way it causes his heart to dance.

“Oh, hello,” Blaine says surprisedly, his smile growing wider. Kurt kisses his jaw, the smooth skin warm under his lips with a hint of rough, scratching stubble. Blaine gives a content hum, and Kurt takes advantage of his distraction to steal the box from him.

“Ha!” 

“Traitor,” Blaine mutters, hiding his face behind his hands as Kurt looks through the box, pulling out different bow ties and examining them carefully, silky fabric underneath his fingertips.

“These are actually really nice,” Kurt pulls out a yellow one with blue and red stripes, holding it up to Blaine’s throat to envision it on him. “Aww,” he can’t help but coo, the sight of Blaine positively charming. Blaine rolls his eyes endearingly and hands Kurt a different box.

“I meant this one,” he mumbles.

“I’m never going to let you live this down.”

“Just take it to the bathroom, asshole.”

“I’m not sure the bathroom has an asshole, Blaine,” Kurt snickers, taking advantage of his leverage over a usually smooth and collected Blaine.

“I swear to God, Kurt,” Blaine laughs, his cheeks deepening in color. Kurt takes the box from his hands and leans forward, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“You get kind of cute when you’re all flustered and embarrassed,” he whispers in his ear, mirroring the exact words Blaine said to him when Kurt asked him to go to Puck’s party.

Blaine shakes his head, laughing, his eyes shimmering with adoration. “Unbelievable.”

They spend the rest of the morning unpacking, stopping when Pam makes sandwiches, and continuing into the early afternoon, until Blaine notices the clock and sighs.

“I should probably get going,” he stands. Kurt nods, but his throat feels stuck. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” Kurt forces a smile. He wants to ask Blaine why, why he’s still working there, why he’s still doing this to himself, but the words won’t come.

Blaine pulls him up into a sweet kiss, his arms circling Kurt’s waist.

“Mmm, I’ll never get enough of this.”

“What?” Kurt breathes against his lips.

“Kissing you.”

Kurt’s smile spreads genuinely, his heart filling with elation and his concerns calming, slipping from his mind with the sight of Blaine in front of him, his hands firm and gripping Kurt’s waist, making his pulse skip.

“Well,” Kurt kisses him chastely then, a press of smiling lips. “I’ll be here when you get home.”

“God, I love hearing that,” Blaine beams.

…….

The next day, the first official day of living together, is not as awkward as Kurt had anticipated.

It’s a Sunday, which means everybody is home, Blaine just out of his reach, in his vision and proximity but a safe distance from him under the nose of their parents.

Sunday also means football, which entertains Burt and Pam, and much to Kurt’s surprise, also Blaine.

Kurt never watches football with his Dad, at least not without a magazine, but when Burt and Pam settle together on the couch, Blaine on the other end, Kurt finds himself wandering into the room, taking a spot on the floor.

“What the hell is this?” Burt marvels, watching Kurt as he lays down on his stomach, resting his elbows on a pillow.

“What?” Kurt raises an eyebrow.

“You’re watching football,” Burt looks at him expectantly, and Pam smiles where her head is resting on his shoulder.

“Miracles do exist,” Blaine cheers from his end of the couch, and Kurt shoots him a pointed look.

“I didn’t know I was going to get bullied coming in here,” Kurt rolls his eyes, turning his attention to the TV and trying his hardest to ignore Blaine’s figure grinning at him out of his peripheral vision.

“You don’t like football, Kurt?” Pam asks and his Dad snorts.

“Oh, far from it,” he laughs and Kurt gives him a warning glare. “Kurt loves football. He was on the high school team.”

“Dad,” Kurt groans, dropping his head onto the pillow. “Stop, please.”

“Wait,” Blaine pipes up, shifting forward excitedly. “I want to hear this.”

“No you don’t,” Kurt mumbles muffeldly into the pillow.

“What position did you play?” Pam asks, and Kurt’s just about to form a snarky remark when his Dad answers for him.

“Kicker,” Burt grins, gaining great amusement from the way Kurt’s cheeks flare up.

“Shut up,” Blaine’s mouth hangs open in shock, and when Kurt looks at him, he’s staring at Kurt like he’s the most wonderful thing he’s ever seen. “Are you serious?”

“I wish I could say no,” Kurt sighs.

“Oh come on!” Burt says proudly. “That was the only game I’ve ever seen your high school win.”

“Alright, I’m going to get a magazine,” Kurt stands. “This is intolerable.” He glances at Blaine before he leaves the room, trying to mask his blush at Blaine’s enamored smile.

He grabs one of his magazines from his room, stopping at the landing of the stairs to text Blaine.

_**Tone it down a little. You look like a little boy on Christmas morning.** _

When he reenters the room, Blaine’s attention is captured entirely by the game, as well as Burt’s and Pam’s, who are screaming enthusiastically and throwing their hands in the air. Kurt can’t help but smile at the sight of them so perfectly together.

He lays back down on the floor and reads his magazine for a while, glancing occasionally out of the corner of his eye at Blaine. After about twenty minutes, his phone lights up.

_**How can I not? My boyfriend was a fucking kicker.** _

He steals a look at Blaine, who looks innocently ahead at the TV screen, a smile tugging at his lips. Kurt bites back a grin, willing the blush blooming across his cheeks at Blaine’s use of the word boyfriend to fade.

His eyes scan over the words in his magazine, but his mind lies elsewhere, running around giddily at the thought of being someone’s boyfriend, at the thought of being Blaine’s, of Blaine wanting him, a smile setting permanently on his resting face.

His eyes never stay on the pages for too long, lingering towards Blaine on their own accord, no matter how hard Kurt tries to focus on everything but him. Kurt’s gaze flickers over to find Blaine watching him, their eyes meeting each other across the room and holding, as if connected by an invisible wire, until they’re both blushing and glancing away.

And that’s how the game passes, stolen glances as they try to focus on something other than each other and inevitably fail, attempting to keep their staring hidden and minimal, shy, secretive smiles gracing their faces.

Kurt’s wound tight by the end of the game, seconds from snapping, strung high with the desire for Blaine, his presence intoxicating and his distance infuriating. 

How is he supposed to have Blaine this close to him everyday, yet constantly this far out of his grasp?

“Beer, anyone?” Burt says, shifting forward to rise off the couch.

“I can get it for you, Dad,” Kurt interrupts, seizing the opportunity to get out of the room before he combusts. “I was thinking of starting dinner anyway.”

“Thanks, Kurt,” Burt nods.

“Pam would you like one?” Kurt offers.

“Oh, thank you sweetheart, but I’m alright,” she says kindly, and Kurt nearly chokes at the endearment, the way she says it sounding almost identical to Blaine.

So, so, so, so, so wrong.

“Uh, Blaine?” Kurt looks toward him, and Blaine smiles politely.

“Sure, I’ll take one.”

Kurt nods, walking out of the room, reeling from the interaction between him and Blaine, despite how minor and quick it was.

He brings two beers back to the living room, Blaine’s fingertips brushing teasingly against his as he hands it to him, and then returns to the kitchen to begin dinner.

He’s measuring baking powder, pouring it into a bowl when a warm pair of hands sliding across his waist from behind startles him.

“Oh my God,” Kurt jumps.

“Shh,” Blaine whispers into his ear, kissing warmly just underneath it as Kurt grabs onto his wrist for support, his knees suddenly feeling weak. 

“Blaine,” he hisses quietly. “What are you doing?”

“Do you have any idea what you do to me, Hummel? Are you trying to drive me wild?” His lips inch lower, a wet trail down the side of Kurt’s neck.

“You’re being reckless,” Kurt reprimands weakly, his eyelids shutting closed in bliss.

“You’re so hot,” Blaine breathes and Kurt’s eyes fly open. He’s never heard Blaine talk like this, not legitimately, not while they’ve been together, Blaine’s hands roaming across his waist.

It sets something ablaze low in Kurt’s stomach, something hungry and splendorous, something he felt the first time he saw Blaine up on the stage, the first time he tasted Blaine’s lips against his.

It leaves Kurt craving, ravenous for more, and it petrifies him in its unfamiliarity and exposure.

“Blaine, seriously, they could come in here any minute,” Kurt pleads with some franticness in his voice, though nothing inside him wants Blaine to stop what he’s doing. Blaine presses a final kiss to his neck and steps back.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, looking rather embarrassed. Kurt presses a chaste peck to his lips to let him know it’s okay.

He watches Kurt stir for a moment, a gentle smile on both their lips at the simple, silent intimacy of having Blaine this close to him.

“Were you really kicker?” he asks after a moment with a smirk.

“Yes,” Kurt rolls his eyes affectionately, smiling as he swats his arm. “Get out of here.”

Dinner passes normally, just like their usual get togethers, except this time, Blaine doesn’t leave when it’s over. Kurt doesn’t race to his room to text him, smiling uncontrollably, his stomach a net of butterflies, already eager for when he’ll return next week.

Instead, Blaine offers to help Pam wash the dishes and Kurt watches him with unabashed fondness. He’s caring and considerate in an integrated way he wasn’t when Kurt first met him, but a way Kurt’s always believed he could be, who he naturally is deep inside finally shining through, beautiful and enamoring as Kurt’s heart stretches and deepens in magnificently rich ways he never knew were possible.

……..

That night, Kurt changes into his pajamas, does his nightly skin care routine, and settles into bed, attempting perilously to fall into a futile sleep.

He tosses and turns restlessly, his body thrumming anxiously with energy, energy that eats at him, nagging and persistent until he throws the covers off and stumbles up the stairs.

He counts the steps as his legs carry him intuitively towards a destination he hasn’t fully registered with his brain yet, wandering through the darkness of the main floor.

Forty-seven steps.

Forty-seven steps and one creaky floorboard that Kurt winces when he steps on, pausing for a moment before he continues, the silver of light beaming from under Blaine’s door guiding him.

He knocks softly, holding his breath anxiously for a few moments before the door cracks open and Blaine’s face appears, his eyes lighting up when he sees Kurt.

“Hey,” he whispers.

“Hi,” Kurt responds quietly, suddenly unsure of himself as Blaine stares patiently at him, waiting for him to say more. He has no idea why he came to Blaine’s room, no idea what he’s doing, no idea what’s fueling every action deep inside him, forcing him to move, to seek out Blaine.

Blaine’s eyes sparkle in the dim light, soft and gentle and loving in the dark, serene hours of the peaceful night, his curls loose and t shirt pulled tightly against his chest, and Kurt doesn’t know what he’s here for, only that there’s something, something he can’t quite grasp, right in front of him, teasing him as he tries to reach for it, tries to name it and place it.

Suddenly, something snaps inside Kurt and without any warning, he leaps forward, throwing his arms around Blaine and kissing him deeply.

Blaine stumbles back a few inches before he finds his footing and kisses Kurt back fervently, shutting the door behind him quietly and moving them inside.

Their lips move together as Kurt moans softly, the taste of Blaine on his lips exquisite, soft and sweet and heated, his tongue tracing Kurt’s lip until Kurt tilts his head back and deepens the kiss.

Blaine’s hands twist in the silky fabric of Kurt’s pajama top, backing him against the wall as he kisses hotly across Kurt’s jaw, jolts and sparks of pure energy and desire that spread across Kurt’s skin as his hands trace the strong planes of Blaine’s chest through his t shirt.

“Oh my God,” Kurt breathes, bursting into quiet laughter, his shoulders shaking. Blaine raises his head to look at him, a smile on his lips.

“What?” he whispers.

“I genuinely just came to say goodnight,” Kurt giggles, his hands sliding up the curve of Blaine’s shoulders and resting at the back of his neck, twisting his fingertips in the curls there. Blaine places one hand on the wall next to Kurt’s head, the other sliding around his waist and holding him securely.

“Sure,” he teases, nipping at Kurt’s bottom lip, which makes Kurt gasp, then giggle.

“I really did. But I can’t seem to keep my hands off of you, Mr. Anderson,” Kurt flirts, playful and teasing and somewhat subtly seductive in a way he had no idea he was capable of verbalizing, something burning low and deep behind his heart.

Blaine kisses him again, slower, gentle, a thumb rising to stroke across Kurt’s jawline in a motion that knocks all the air out of Kurt’s lungs.

“I’m so happy to be here with you,” he says suddenly, looking down for a moment before he looks straight into Kurt’s eyes, tender and open and vulnerable in complete seriousness. Kurt’s heart falls deeply further into something that feels irreversible and colossal and so, so right.

“I’m so happy to have you here with me,” he whispers softly, his throat closing over the words, his hands shaking, not quite believing the boy he’s touching underneath him.

Blaine’s smile is beautiful, small and affectionate, making Kurt’s toes curl with excitement at the novel rush of emotions he’s never experienced before.

“You look cute,” Blaine’s eyes rake down Kurt’s navy blue silk pajamas and Kurt blushes.

“I’m in my pajamas,” Kurt says with a quirked eyebrow. Blaine kisses the tip of his nose.

“Still cute.”

Kurt hugs him then, falling into his arms as Blaine holds him tightly, rubbing up and down his back and nuzzling into his hair.

Kurt’s not sure how long they stay wrapped like that, but he’s never felt warmer inside, happy and cared for and secure in the arms of a beautiful boy he still can’t quite believe wants him like this.

“Well,” he pulls back eventually, somewhat embarrassed at his sudden outburst of physical affection. “Goodnight, Blaine.”

“Goodnight, Kurt,” Blaine presses a soft kiss to his lips and they linger together for a moment, simply staring at each other, almost unwilling to part, before Kurt kicks off the wall and walks toward the door.

“Kurt?” Blaine whispers softly, and Kurt turns around.

“Hmm?”

Blaine looks like he wants to say something, something unspoken right on the tip of his tongue, his eyes wide as he stares at Kurt in the quiet room, illuminated only by a single lamp next to Blaine’s bed.

“Blaine?”

“Goodnight,” he says again, smiling at Kurt, his eyes glimmering. Kurt watches him for a moment, strong and compact and flawlessly beautiful.

“Goodnight,” he responds eventually, shutting the door discreetly behind him and tiptoeing back to his room, his face pulled into a smile so wide it aches, his heart racing with every step, from the first to the forty-seventh.

……

Things are much different during the week.

Kurt spends his time at school during the day, and Blaine’s usually gone at work most afternoons. It’s almost as if nothing has changed. In fact, despite living in Kurt’s house, it’s almost as if he has less opportunities to talk to Blaine now.

Kurt’s afternoons consist of Glee club practice while Burt works at the garage and Pam works long shifts at Target, Kurt learns, a job she got recently before they moved and transferred locations with when they decided to come to Lima.

Kurt and Pam switch off between making dinner throughout the week, and aside from one night, it’s only them plus Burt present for dinner.

Kurt tries not to be irritated by the fact that Blaine is still dancing, because he can’t expect Blaine to stop that for him. He just doesn’t see why it’s necessary for Blaine to do it anymore, when he’s so much more than that, when he’s in a better place.

But he knows those wounds are still fresh for Blaine, so he keeps quiet. He doesn’t want to offend him, or make him regress, or make him feel guilty for something he turned to get him through his darkest days.

He just wants to help him. To make him see that he is capable of healing, that he can move on and find something greater than what’s he’s subjecting himself to continually. 

Kurt gets home late from Glee club practice the night that Blaine isn’t at work, and he doesn’t have a chance to talk to him until he slips into his room late at night.

Blaine pulls Kurt tight against him and hugs him firmly, breathing into his neck.

“What’s wrong?” Kurt asks gently, immediately noticing the unusual shift in Blaine’s demeanor.

“I miss you,” Blaine squeezes him tighter. Kurt wants to point out that he would see Blaine more if he wasn’t gone every afternoon in Columbus, but he bites his tongue.

“I miss you, too,” Kurt whispers into his curls, and he does, he misses talking to Blaine, that simple, exhilarating communication ironically stolen from them now that they live under the same roof.

“How can I make it up to you?” Blaine’s fingers trail down Kurt’s spine, sending shivers throughout his body.

Kurt thinks of what he wants to say again, but holds back.

“Are you working Saturday?”

A small smile that Kurt doesn’t quite understand curls Blaine’s lips before he shakes his head.

“No. I’m not.”

“Let’s do something. Just you and me. We’ll figure it out.”

“Okay,” Blaine smiles, lacing his fingers with Kurt’s. “But let me plan it, because you swept me off my feet last time. It’s my turn to do something for you.”

Kurt’s heart thumps heavy with affection as he nods, letting Blaine capture his lips in a slow kiss that calms everything inside him, his body soaring weightlessly.

………

It’s Friday afternoon, just after fifth period, that Dave Karofsky and his posse of jocks shove Kurt roughly into a locker, his shoulder crashing into the solid metal with a searing pang.

“Out of the way, Faggot!”

“What the hell?” Kurt yells through gritted teeth, grasping his throbbing shoulder. “What on earth is wrong with you?”

He’s not unused to this treatment, but aside from the slushie a few weeks ago, it hasn’t happened for almost two years, not since Puck became his friend. Puck’s sixth period class is on the other side of school, so Kurt usually walks alone in the hall to his class, and they’ve never attacked him like this before.

He doesn’t understand why he’s been targeted twice in the last few weeks. He thought this was over, he thought he was done being treated as a joke, outwardly at least. Kurt knows they still whisper about him behind his back, the gossip chain at McKinley fast and efficient and deadly.

“What’d you say to me cunt?” Dave spits loudly, and Kurt’s body freezes abruptly.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me Lady Hummel,” Dave challenges as a swamping rage consumes Kurt.

“How dare you call me that!” he screams, shaking with anger, his hands gripped tightly around his bag. He charges toward him, stopping inches from Dave’s face, his body fueled apoplectically. 

“What are you going to do Hummel, hit me?” Dave sneers, and Kurt realizes in a sudden jolt of agonizing reality that Dave is right.

He’s powerless, weak, incomparable to Dave’s strength, and nothing inside him would ever possess him to hit Dave in the first place, no matter what vile slurs he threw Kurt’s way.

He wants to, he wants to fight back, to defend himself, to prove he’s more than the worthlessness they make him out to be, but he can’t.

He stumbles backwards, sinking back against the lockers as he resigns helplessly to the torment, the humiliation, the mock that threatens to crumple him defeatedly into the floor, as Dave laughs loudly, the sound echoing cruelly throughout the hallway.

“That’s what I thought, Hummel,” he yells, watching Kurt with a menacing eye before he turns and struts away.

Kurt’s chest heaves as he catches his breath, tears gathering behind his eyes as he suddenly becomes aware of the congregating crowd watching with wide eyes.

“Show’s over,” his voice cracks, his legs sprinting into action as he runs past his sixth period classroom and out the doors, straight to his car.

Kurt sobs as he drives home, tears streaming forcefully down his cheeks, unable to be held inside as he grips the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turn white. He pulls up to the house, storming inside and slamming the door.

He drops his bag near the door and goes straight to his room, his mind focused narrowly on a single track of rage. He strips out of his clothes and hops into the shower in an effort to calm down before he loses control of himself.

Kurt’s sobs melt with the streaming pour of the hot water, the pressure diffusing some of the tension in his body as he lets it cleanse him, cascade down around him and purify him of all the grime, all the nasty hate of the world, the injustice that belittles him repeatedly. 

He’s calmed down somewhat by the time he finishes. Fairly certain no one is home, he slings a towel around his waist and wanders into the kitchen in search of something to eat to cheer him up.

He’s just finished grabbing the ice cream out of the fridge, wincing as his shoulder pulses, when he turns around and crashes straight into Blaine.

“Oh my God!” Kurt shrieks, dropping the ice cream carton. Blaine freezes, his eyes growing wide as he takes in Kurt’s long, pale torso, still dripping with droplets from his shower, his rosy nipples hardening against the cool air.

Blaine swallows heavily a few times before looking up at Kurt, his amber eyes ridiculously wide, pupils blown out and dilated and glued on Kurt. His gaze makes Kurt feel exposed, vulnerable and revealing as his face burns with embarrassment.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at work?” Kurt rambles, his voice high pitched and flustered. Blaine swallows again.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at school?” he counters, his voice hoarse and scratchy when he speaks before he clears it hurriedly, his own cheeks blooming with a deep blush.

“I… I came home early?” Kurt supplies weakly, suddenly keenly aware of exactly how exposed he is when Blaine’s eyes drop briefly to the towel resting low on his hips, flickering back up to Kurt’s eyes immediately. 

“Kurt…” He trails off suddenly, his eyes narrowing on Kurt’s shoulder. “What the hell happened to your shoulder?”

Kurt glances down. There’s a deep purple bruise spreading angrily across the pale skin of his freckled shoulder that he hasn’t noticed until now.

“Nothing,” Kurt dismisses, angling his shoulder away from Blaine. He’d rather not tell Blaine about his humiliation.

“Kurt, what happened?” Blaine asks again, his tone firmer as he steps closer. Kurt takes a step back.

“It’s nothing Blaine, I just fell, that’s all.”

“Where?”

“At school,” Kurt attempts to move past him, but Blaine blocks his way.

“You just fell,” he clarifies disbelievingly.

“Yes,” Kurt says emphatically.

“Tell me what really happened.”

“Why don’t you believe me?” Kurt huffs annoyedly, irritated that Blaine won’t let it go, that he keeps being reminded of his failure.

“I told you, Kurt, you’re a terrible liar,” Blaine watches him closely before his face dawns in realization. “Somebody did this to you didn’t they?”

Kurt bites his lip. “Blaine…”

“Oh my god,” Blaine covers his mouth. “Did somebody hit you?”

“Blaine, please…”

“Why aren’t you being honest with me?” Blaine’s voice is frantic.

“Why does it matter to you?” Kurt feels close to tears, his own pride quickly forcing the situation to escalate out of control.

“It matters because you matter to me!” Blaine says forcefully, and everything around Kurt stills in an instant. 

The words hit him vastly, threatening to knock him off his feet, making his heart flip rapidly, his tongue thick and solid in this mouth. Blaine’s looking at him with such honest devotion that Kurt knows he means it truthfully. He can see it shining boldly, desperately, in every inch of his fiery eyes.

The veracity of the statement Kurt’s never heard before in his entire life, that he matters to someone, that he matters to Blaine, swamps him with the intensity of a crashing wave, every nerve inside his body trembling and lit on a fine wire.

It’s almost too much for him to comprehend, too much for him to believe, and Kurt suddenly wants to cry for an entirely different reason. He breathes quietly for a few minutes before he finds his voice.

“Somebody pushed me into a locker,” he tells him honestly. Blaine’s face is paralyzed for a split second, stone cold and void of expression before his eyes cloud with abundant anger, dark and furious.

“I’ll kill them,” he growls, his anger growing ferociously. “I’ll fucking kill them.”

“Blaine, calm down, it’s not that big of a deal-”

“How can you say that?” Blaine splutters. “How can you cast this aside like it doesn’t matter? This is your safety, Kurt! This is assault! Why didn’t you just tell me the truth?”

“Because it’s humiliating!” Kurt cries, the anger and hurt of the incident crashing back into him, frustration rising in his voice. “Because I’m weak… a-and pathetic-”

“Stop it,” Blaine says instantly. “Stop talking about yourself like that.”

“I’m sick of feeling like some helpless creature in need of protecting, Blaine,” Kurt wipes an angry tear from his eye. “I don’t need you to fight my battles for me and I don’t need you to go after them. Can we please just forget about this?”

“Kurt, I’m not trying to fight your battles for you and I know you’re perfectly capable of handling yourself, but I can’t just let this go. You’re hurt!”

“You don’t think I know that?” Kurt snaps and Blaine throws his hands up.

“Fine,” he mutters. “Fine. I’m sorry for being concerned about you,” he turns on his heel and storms out of the kitchen.

“Blaine, wait,” Kurt calls tiredly, running a hand through his hair and flinching when he hears Blaine’s door close harshly.

An awful weight settles in his chest, aching and sore and uneasy. He didn’t mean to fight with Blaine, to pit one more person against him, the anxiety of the incident with Dave causing him to be harsher and more defensive than he knows he should’ve been.

The reality of having someone else care so deeply for him still shocks Kurt, makes him protective and wary of the sincerity and the vulnerability in a way he desperately wishes he could dissolve.

He doesn’t need Blaine to fight his battles for him, but as he stands in the kitchen alone, he knows that wasn’t what Blaine was saying. He was asking Kurt to trust him, to come to him, to lean on him in a time when everything felt too overwhelming and Kurt hates that some part of him is still holding back, afraid and skeptical.

Regret floods Kurt. It’s so blatantly obvious to him now that Blaine cares about him more deeply than Kurt understood before, and all he wants to do is run to him and apologize, to tell him everything, to wrap his body in Blaine’s and never untangle, but he’s not sure he’s welcome anymore.

He heaves a heavy sigh and retreats to his room, turning on the TV to try and forget his guilt and uneasiness. He spends the afternoon down there, knowing Blaine is upstairs angry at him, and he doesn’t see him again until he’s setting the table for dinner.

Blaine walks past him, avoiding Kurt’s gaze as he takes a seat at the table, and Kurt feels a lump form in his throat. They’re both unusually quiet as dinner passes, listening as Pam and Burt talk about their days, achingly aware of the distance between each other.

Kurt glances over at Blaine briefly only once. Kurt can tell he’s still angry by the set in his jaw, silently fuming almost, but Kurt’s not sure if it’s because of him, or the jocks who pushed Kurt into a locker. He wants to settle his hand on Blaine’s knee, to form some type of contact between them, but he doesn’t.

“So, Kurt, I got a call from the school today that you were marked absent in sixth period. What’s that about?” Burt inquires, raising an eyebrow. Kurt swallows, nodding his head as convincingly as he can, noticing out of the corner of his eye that Blaine’s gaze rests on him for the first time the whole evening.

“I wasn’t feeling very good, so I left early,” he lies. “I’m all caught up on the work for that class, and Mercedes sent me the notes we took today, so I didn’t miss anything,” he adds assuringly, and his Dad accepts it, nodding and moving on to something else.

Ever so carefully, tentative and shy, Blaine’s hand moves towards his underneath the table, his gaze still focused on everything except Kurt. Kurt hesitates for a moment, exhaling an uncertain breath before he slides his hand forward silently and laces his fingers loosely with Blaine’s, who tightens his hold on Kurt immediately. 

Neither of them say another word for the rest of dinner, but a weight lifts off of Kurt’s shoulder, the small, comforting contact between them warm and relieving, unwinding some of the tension in the pit of Kurt’s stomach.

Blaine disappears after dinner and Kurt resigns himself to the basement. It’s only when he receives a text from Mercedes asking him if he wants to go to the mall the next day, that he realizes he doesn’t even know if their date is still planned.

As the night presses on, the desire to go to Blaine’s room and apologize grows stronger, obscuring all of Kurt’s thoughts. He debates back and forth repeatedly in an endless battle as he gets ready for bed, eventually deciding against it. He climbs into bed and turns out the light, laying on his back as he stares up at the ceiling.

Everything inside him is fast in motion, his body unwilling to rest, his mind racing with agitation. He lays awake for at least an hour, consumed with the need for Blaine, his closeness, his forgiveness, his presence.

When the knock on the door comes, so soft he can barely hear it, Kurt almost cries with relief.

He doesn't answer but it opens anyway, Blaine’s figure slipping inside and standing pressed against the door as he shuts it. Kurt sits up on his elbows to watch him, his features almost indistinguishable except for the bright burn of his glowing eyes.

The air is tight between them, waiting and anticipating as they breathe together. Blaine looks uncertain of himself, shy and insecure, his body thrumming with a restlessness that Kurt feels pulling toward him, a dam of heavy eagerness moments from collapsing.

“I… I just wanted to say goodnight,” Blaine says eventually, his voice soft and full of something more, something unexpressed that Kurt can feel radiating deep in his bones.

All Kurt can think is how beautiful he looks standing on the other side of his room, and he’s engulfed with a possessive hunger, a commanding need for Blaine to come closer, every fiber of his being yearning with a power that overtakes Kurt, as if Blaine is the very air Kurt needs to breathe.

It’s terrifying in a way Kurt knows he can’t ignore, a way that he only feels capable of handling if Blaine is with him, trusting him and guarding him and protecting everything Kurt urgently wants to share with him, safe and secure in a warmth and care Kurt knows at this moment, only Blaine can give him.

He wants Blaine, like he’s never wanted anything before, an immeasurable, profound craving that’s intimidating and intimate, and somehow, also something Kurt’s ready for, with a burning passion fueling every undeclared desire inside of him.

Blaine turns to leave after the silence prolongs and Kurt finds himself calling out, unwilling to let him go.

“Blaine?”

A single breath passes between them that lasts indefinitely in its brevity.

“Yeah?”

“Stay?”

Blaine stands motionless for so long that Kurt begins to think he didn’t hear him, and he almost repeats himself when suddenly, Blaine turns around and crosses the room.

He stops next to the bed, so close Kurt has to fight the urge to reach out and grab him. He scoots over, making room, but Blaine stays still, looking uncertain, his hands clutching Kurt’s duvet.

“I’m not going to bite you,” Kurt teases, and Blaine chuckles, everything between them easing and dissolving as he gives Kurt a gentle smile, gazing at him with adoring eyes and climbing into the bed.

Blaine lays down on his back, pulling the covers over him, and Kurt doesn’t hesitate to settle against his side, his head pillowed on Blaine’s chest, his heartbeat rhythmically defined under Kurt’s ear. Blaine’s arms wrap around him, holding him tightly, his thumb grazing soothingly across Kurt’s arm.

“I’m sorry,” Kurt says quietly.

“No, sweetheart, I’m sorry.”

Kurt’s own heartbeat thumps wildly in his ears, and he feels like he can’t get close enough to Blaine, slinging a leg over Blaine’s thigh to settle in between his legs, tangling their feet together. Blaine feels so good all around him, warm and comfy and beautifully scented, soft and masculine and so boy.

“I don’t like that people are hurting you,” Blaine says after a moment.

“I know.”

“But I’m not trying to control you.”

“I know that, too,” Kurt responds gently, his hands tracing the soft fabric of Blaine’s shirt in tiny patterns. Blaine presses a tender kiss to Kurt’s forehead that makes Kurt feel blissfully warm.

“He called me a...a-” Kurt blurts out suddenly, his voice catching on the word, unable to say it.

“A what?”

“A cunt,” Kurt says faintly into the dark night. Blaine inhales sharply, his thumb pausing it’s movements.

“Please tell me you’re kidding.”

Kurt let’s his silence be the answer, and he feels Blaine exhale a heavy sigh. They lay quietly for a few minutes, Kurt’s head rising and falling with the movements of Blaine’s chest. Suddenly a thought occurs to him.

“Blaine?”

“Hmm?”

“How’d you get the scar on your head?” Kurt asks, propping his chin up on Blaine’s chest to stare up at him. “You said it was Carl but… what happened?” Blaine looks down at him, his hand swirling carefully and cautiously around Kurt’s bruised shoulder.

“Well, the scar didn’t actually come from Carl,” Blaine’s gaze is soft. “He hit me when I came out to him, straight across the cheek, yelling about how I was disgusting and revolting.”

Kurt listens sympathetically, his heart beating swiftly, Blaine’s eyes dense with distant pain.

“And then for a few days, he acted like I hadn’t told him. He pretended that it hadn’t happened, that it wasn’t real, saying I was confused, or faking it, or whatever shitty excuse he used to deny it. He kept making comments about my ‘future wife’ and things like that, so I confronted him again. I told him I was gay and he couldn’t change that, and when he tried to hit me again, I dodged it. I tripped and cut my head on the corner of our coffee table.”

“Blaine…” Kurt trails off, tears springing to his eyes, staring at the boy so beautifully broken above him, hurt and damaged and Kurt’s chest aches with pride for how strong he’s become, how much he’s endured.

“I guess that’s why it makes me so mad to hear about those boys hurting you, Kurt,” A tear rolls down Blaine’s cheek. “Because I know how it feels. And you don’t deserve that.”

It seizes Kurt in an instant, a pivotal enlightening instant that’s as clear as day, vivid and bountiful and elegant as he stares at Blaine, soft black curls and hazel eyes, plump pink lips and a slightly crooked nose that Kurt adores and a wonderfully unique soul that Kurt’s somehow come to hold preciously in his hands.

He’s in love with Blaine.

He doesn’t have to have someone explain it to him to know that this is what falling in love feels like.

He doesn’t have to second guess it, to analyze it or consider it or doubt it for a second. It’s the first thing that’s ever come naturally to him, simplistic and uncomplicated and unerringly correct.

It feels like flying, like he’s felt since the night he laid Blaine in his bed and settled on the floor beside him, his mind finally catching up and connecting with his soul, his body aligning in a revelation that leaves him breathless, his heart fluttering deeply, his head spinning.

“Blaine,” he rasps. “Kiss me.”

And Blaine does, holding Kurt’s jaw with his hands as he brings their lips together in a gentle kiss that grows heated quickly, fueled by more passion than they’ve ever shared before, tasting every inch of each other, mouth’s taking and sharing and exploring, demanding to be closer than they can possibly get.

Suddenly Blaine’s rolling him gently onto his back, laying on top of him and pressing Kurt into the mattress as he continues to kiss him hungirly, like he’s never tasted anything sweeter, his arms bracketing Kurt’s head securely.

Kurt thinks it has to be the single most amazing feeling in the world, to have the boy he loves on top of him, protecting him, everything around them fading away into the blackness of the night.

All that’s left is the world of them, the way their bodies move together, roaming hands and soft sighs, teeth tugging lips and tongues caressing. Blaine kisses down Kurt’s neck, wet and sucking, every kiss placed with immaculate care, sending a low building pressure throughout Kurt’s body, his skin hot to the touch, radiating with the heat emanating off of Blaine’s tanned skin.

Kurt can feel his erection swelling, and in a moment he never thought he could possibly be ready for, something that always seemed terrifying in thought, too vulnerable and unguarded for someone as borderline obsessive about control as himself, Kurt finds himself feeling eager, yearning, seeking more, more, because suddenly he wants to be closer, he wants more, he wants Blaine.

It’s Blaine above him, kissing into the hollow of his throat with so much invigorated adoration, worshipping Kurt’s body, that makes him safe in this moment instead of unprotected, empowered with vulnerability instead of compromised.

He grips the strong muscles on Blaine’s arms, tactically learning everything for himself with seeking hands that thirst on a stream of desire he can’t seem to get enough of. He feels a hardness rubbing against his thigh that he realizes with a gasp is Blaine, and a loud, uninhibited moan escapes his lips without thought.

Blaine rises back up to his mouth and captures his lips softly, swallowing the sound. 

“Shh, we don’t want them to hear us,” he chuckles into Kurt’s mouth and Kurt blushes, Blaine’s lips trailing across his cheek to his ear, sucking on the lobe, warm and suctioning.

He lowers his mouth and bites softly at the skin just underneath Kurt’s ear, and Kurt’s hips buck up, pushing their erections together in a slide of keen friction that sends a jerk of pleasure up Kurt’s body, his back arching, vaguely resembling the pleasure he’s experienced the few times he’s indulged in masturbating, but exponentially different in a larger, greater, more powerful way, the sensitive pleasure multiplied and dimensionalized by the addition of another person, by the pressure of Blaine.

A thrill runs through them both, and Blaine groans, low and guttural, dropping his head. “Kurt, we should stop.”

“No,” Kurt says immediately, his body overwhelmed by the new sensations, his brain warm and dizzy but his heart beating rapidly with resolute surety. “No, I-I want this.”

Blaine looks into his eyes, searching behind the clouds of lust to find the tender, assuring truthfulness for himself. “Are you sure?”

“I… I don’t want anything more. But this,” Kurt cants his hips upwards, rubbing against the thin material of Blaine’s sweats, feeling the thick outline of his cock against his. They both suppress a groan, teeth holding back lips, and it feels so good, utterly intoxicating. Kurt knows he’s never wanted anything more. “This feels good. I want this. I want you.”

Blaine’s eyes darken with a mixture of pure adoration and lust as he nods. “Okay,” he leans forward, kissing Kurt breathlessly. “Okay.”

Blaine kisses him for a few minutes, sucking Kurt’s bottom lip between his plump ones and licking at the roof of his mouth, before he snaps his hips down again, this time deliberate and purposeful. Kurt’s blunt nails dig into the back of his t shirt, holding onto any purchase of Blaine he can grasp above him.

“Does that feel good?” Blaine whispers hotly into Kurt’s ear, his voice low and sensuous and his breath tickling against Kurt’s skin, the hairs on his body standing at attention in a shiver. 

“Y-yes,” Kurt stutters out, his hips rising, chasing the friction. “Fuck, Blaine.”

Blaine grinds against him again, slower this time, prolonging the drag of their swollen cocks, the layers between them slippery as a throbbing develops deep in Kurt’s stomach.

“You’re so beautiful, baby,” Blaine praises, breath ghosting against Kurt’s jaw as he builds a steady rhythm, thrusting against Kurt, heat blaring between them faster and hotter and thicker as the pleasure in Kurt escalates higher. 

Kurt’s hands fall to Blaine’s lower back, pressing into the strong muscles and pushing him against him to make the pressure firmer, harder, more, jolts and sparks of pleasure igniting inside him, bringing him closer and closer to the edge.

“Blaine,” he whimpers, a plea, a cry, a revelation, a declaration of joy and desire and love and everything else Kurt can’t verbalize coherently in any other words except the name of the boy surrounding and encompassing all of his senses. 

Blaine hums, kissing Kurt’s sweaty forehead as he moves faster, humping against him at a rapid pace and everything inside Kurt builds, his body rising to meet every thrust, the drag between them increasing as they rub harder, Kurt’s fingers twisting into Blaine’s curls, Blaine’s teeth dragging down the column of his throat.

Suddenly Blaine’s lips are on his again, off center and filthily messy, kissing him harder than Kurt’s ever been kissed until his jaw goes slack, his eyebrows furrowing together as his cock hardens to a bursting point, precome dribbling wetly inside his briefs, Blaine stiff and pulsating against him, panting and straining as he works over Kurt in a frenzy of passion driven movements that bring Kurt closer and closer to the point where everything inside him sharpens achingly tight.

“I’m close,” Kurt whines, high and thin and wrapped around a quiet moan. 

“Let go, Kurt. Let go for me, beautiful,” Blaine encourages into his ear, holding him close as he rubs against Kurt, raw and crazed in his actions but beautifully caring and mindful in the intimate intentions of the emotions passing between their tightly pressed bodies, their souls even closer, not an inch of separated room to spare.

Kurt couldn’t hold off his orgasm if he tried, moaning a soft, unintelligible sound that resembles a mutilated version of Blaine’s name. He wraps his arms around Blaine’s neck as everything inside him releases, his body seizing up, wave after wave of white-hot pleasure washing over him from the inside out, fine wires of electrifying ecstasy traveling up every inch of his body until it’s almost too much, his chest heaving and back arching, his heart fluttering, blood rushing loudly in his ears.

What Kurt’s always thought might be the single most embarrassing experience of his life, becomes the most erotic and romantic thing he’s ever experienced as Blaine kisses him sweetly through it, pulling off his lips to soothe him softly with gentle phrases. 

“That’s it, sweetheart. Just like that. You’re so gorgeous, Kurt. So beautiful for me.”

Kurt’s body glides, the sound of Blaine’s voice and the strength of his arms the only thing grounding him from floating away completely, a blissful thrill numbing his body. 

He comes down from his high slowly, drawing back to reality in bits and pieces and it’s only when Blaine’s face becomes clear again to Kurt’s unfocused eyes, that he realizes Blaine is straining in an effort to hold off his own orgasm, waiting for Kurt.

The consideration behind that simple action makes Kurt’s heart burst with affection. Before he can think twice, his hands reach instinctively toward where Blaine’s cock is tenting his sweats obscenely.

“Can I,” he bites his lip, looking up at Blaine with wide, earnest eyes. “Can I touch?”

Blaine groans lowly, his eyes screwing shut. “It won’t be long.”

“That’s okay.”

“Are you sure, Kurt?” he asks again, and Kurt nods vehemently, wanting desperately to bring Blaine the same rush of fulfilling pleasure he’s just experienced. As soon as something settles in Blaine’s eyes, marking his decision, his restraints snap.

“Then fuck, fuck yes, Kurt, please touch me,” he babbles, crashing their lips together. Kurt reaches forward, finds the thick, hot, outline of Blaine’s cock, gasping into Blaine’s mouth when he wraps his fingers around him, thick and long and in his hand. He palms him through the soft fabric of his sweats in inexperienced movements, hard and solid and heavy and hot to the touch as he strokes up the length.

“Shit,” Blaine moans, his hips thrusting into Kurt’s hand as Kurt tightens his grip and adds pressure, rubbing harder and pulling upwards on his cock, only the material of Blaine’s sweats between his palm and Blaine’s slick skin.

“Shit, shit, fuck, Kurt,” Blaine chants quietly, his lips fixing in an open circle, his face contorting with pleasure as Kurt palms him harder, faster, movements relying on what he knows feels good on himself, until Blaine’s hips still and Kurt watches him fall apart.

The sight of Blaine coming is more beautiful and erotic than anything Kurt has ever fantasized about before, his arms shaking where he holds himself up above Kurt, visible ecstasy rushing through him in a silent cry of pleasure that Kurt is bringing him, and Kurt can feel the warm, wet waves of come splurting into his sweats through the thin layer.

Kurt works him through it, loosening his grip and slowing his strokes, until the low groans die from Blaine’s lips and he collapses on his side next to Kurt.

Blaine lays motionless for a moment, panting and heaving as Kurt’s overwhelmed brain tries to comprehend the unfamiliar enormity of everything they just did. He catches his breath, staring into the darkness of his bedroom, expecting to feel some sort of shock, or anxiety, but all he feels is peace. All he feels is warm.

All he feels is loved.

Kurt shifts to his side, facing Blaine and running his fingers through his curls, watching the way they bounce and spring in his hands. Eventually Blaine regains some strength and leans forward, meeting Kurt’s lips in a slow, sated, lazy kiss.

“Hey,” he whispers blissfully, his lips pulling wide into a soft grin.

“Hi,” Kurt smiles, his hands still running through Blaine’s curls. Blaine pulls back and nuzzles their noses together, his hands sliding around Kurt’s waist to pull their bodies close together. There’s a bewildered, adoring smile playing on Blaine’s lips as his eyes scan over every inch of Kurt’s face intently.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Blaine says quietly, his eyes twinkling. “You just… you’re practically glowing. It’s… you are absolutely beautiful, Kurt.”

Kurt blushes, preening under his flattery, a shy smile on his lips that makes Blaine’s eyes light up. He leans closer, pressing gentle kisses to Kurt’s cheek, the tip of his nose, his chin, barely there presses of soft lips that make Kurt fluttery and warm inside, content and peaceful.

“That was amazing. Thank you for sharing that with me,” Blaine’s eyes shimmer with genuine gratitude.

“Blaine, I…” love you, are the words Kurt wants to say, the words reverberating through every cell in his body, sounding with every thump of his heart, but the moment is so perfect, so peaceful and intimate and serene, and he doesn’t want to disturb it, to say the wrong thing, to scare Blaine off by saying something too serious, too deep and too fast.

“You’re welcome,” is what he says instead, followed by, “And thank you. For giving that to me. For making me feel that way. I know it wasn’t… much. Or as-as much as you’re probably used to, I don’t really know what I’m doing…”

“Kurt, baby, shh,” Blaine silences his nervous rambling. “It was perfect. You were perfect. I haven’t come in my pants like that since… well, never, actually,” Blaine says with a quiet laugh and Kurt blushes deeply, thrilled at the new pet name. He searches Blaine’s eyes to find that he’s telling the truth, honest and sincere.

“Yeah, well,” Kurt grimaces, shifting to feel the sticky mess in his pants that’s quickly becoming uncomfortable. “I’m starting to think it wasn’t the smartest idea.”

“I don’t regret it.”

“No,” Kurt smiles, relieved that the words feel right when he says them. “Neither do I.”

Blaine grins and snuggles closer to him. They lay in tender, intimate silence for a while, gazing into each other’s eyes and trading slow kisses.

“Can I tell you something?” Blaine says after a minute. 

“Of course.”

“It’s my birthday tomorrow.”

“What?” Kurt sits up then, his mouth open. “Blaine Anderson! Why didn’t you tell me?”

Blaine shrugs. “I don’t really like celebrating it.”

“What? Why not?”

“I came out to my Dad on my fifteenth birthday and I found Michael cheating on me on my twenty-first. It’s just kind of a sore day for me,” he shrugs again, smaller this time. “But I don’t know. Maybe it doesn’t have to be that way this year.”

“No,” Kurt says, leaning down and kissing him soundly. “It doesn’t have to be that way,” he speaks against his lips, his smile matching Blaine’s wide grin. When he pulls away, Blaine chases after his lips with a groan. 

“Still, I wish you’d told me earlier. It’s not everyday your boyfriend turns thirty.”

Blaine’s jaw drops before his lips curl into a smile and he grabs a pillow from underneath him.

“I’m not that old,” he smacks Kurt with the pillow.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Kurt teases, shrieking when Blaine throws the pillow to the end of the bed and moves to tickle Kurt’s sides instead.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten that you’re ticklish,” Blaine smirks, grabbing Kurt’s waist and pinning him to the bed, settling above him as his fingertips tickle relentlessly around Kurt’s sensitive skin. 

“Blaine, please,” Kurt pleads between breathless laughs, stifling his giggles behind the back of his hand. “They’re going to hear us.”

Blaine slows his fingers, grinning as he swoops down to capture Kurt’s flushed lips in a kiss.

“But really,” Kurt says when they part for breath, the taste of Blaine wet on his tongue. “I would’ve gotten you something.”

Blaine shakes his head. “I don’t need anything. All I want is to be with you.”

“Which you will be,” Kurt smiles, pecking his lips, intoxicated and addicted. “Right?”

“Right,” Blaine nods, his eyes twinkling like stars above Kurt. “By the way, I’ll be picking you up around six tomorrow.”

“We live in the same house,” Kurt points out amusedly.

“Huh, I had no idea.”

Kurt kicks Blaine’s ankle, smiling uncontrollably. “I’ll be ready, birthday boy.”

…….

They stay wrapped together into the early hours of the morning, blushing smiles and slow kisses, the purple hues of dawn filtering through the window and painting their skin in silvery lights.

Eventually Kurt’s eyelids droop and close against his will, exhaustion overtaking him in the warm hold of Blaine’s arms, the scent of Blaine’s skin heavy in his nose as his breathing slows and he lulls into a soundless, secure sleep.

He doesn’t know at what point Blaine leaves, only that he wakes alone in the morning. He checks his phone, grinning when he sees a text from Blaine.

_**didn’t want to get caught. thank you for the best night <3 ** _

He falls back into bed, crashing against the pillows with a joyful smile, gazing up at the ceiling as his heart flutters uncontrollably.

He’s not sure exactly how, but somehow Blaine has wandered into his life, broken and damaged and beautiful.

He’s picked Kurt up, held him and cherished him and shown him what it means to be cared for, what it means to be special, what it means to be worth something to someone else.

Kurt doesn’t know what will happen.

But he’s not afraid.

Because Blaine is teaching him he’s strongest at his broken places.

Blaine is teaching him that he’s worth being loved.

And slowly, gradually, step by step and fallen barrier by fallen barrier, then suddenly, all at one and instantaneous, heart-stopping and breathless;

Kurt’s fallen in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter comes in two parts, and the second half is coming very, very soon!
> 
> Just an FYI, I made a tellonym if you are a guest and want to leave comments that way! The link is in my profile bio :)
> 
> Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated! Tell me what y'all are feeling!! Love you all!


	9. Beautifully Broken Pt. 2

Kurt suspects a cake might be a little too obvious, so he settles for making chocolate chip waffles the next morning.

Burt is the first one in the kitchen. 

“What’s all this?” he asks, surveying the bustling state of the kitchen.

Kurt dances around the island, a whisk in his hand as he kisses his Dad on the cheek. 

“Nothing,” he grins. “Just felt like a good morning for waffles.”

His Dad watches him cook for a minute with a pleasantly surprised smile before taking a quarter of a waffle off the stack Kurt’s already made.

“Mmm,” he groans around a mouthful of food. “Kurt, this is delicious.”

Pam walks around the corner then, entering the kitchen with a bright smile. “It smells wonderful in here, Kurt,” she pecks Burt on the mouth and moves toward the cabinets, retrieving a glass cup.

“Thank you,” Kurt hums happily, pulling the orange juice out of the fridge. The sweet aroma of chocolate spreads warmly through the kitchen, bright morning sunlight streaming through the blinds.

When Blaine enters the kitchen, Kurt can’t help the way his heart flutters helplessly, the way his lips curl into a breathless smile, Blaine’s curls an unruly mess and his clothing still rumpled from sleep.

He looks around the kitchen, and Kurt can tell from his small, bewildered smile, his lips edging wider to one side, his eyes bright and astonished, that he knows it’s for him, that he understands it’s Kurt’s silent way of saying happy birthday.

“‘Morning everyone,” he greets, scratching his stomach lazily beneath his shirt. The small expanse of lightly haired tan skin Kurt can see underneath sends a delicious thrill through his body, a hot dripping clench of satisfied want, a blush creeping up his face at the memory of their night together. Some part of him is still struggling to grasp that it wasn’t a dream, that he actually spent the night in Blaine’s strong arms.

“‘Morning kid,” Burt claps Blaine on the shoulder. Pam walks over and pulls him into a hug, whispering something into his ear that Kurt can only assume is happy birthday. Blaine nods against her hair, squeezing her shoulder lightly before walking toward the food.

“Thanks for breakfast, Kurt,” he says, putting a waffle on his plate. “It looks awesome.”

Kurt wants to kiss him so badly, to throw his arms around his neck and tell him happy birthday, tell him that he _loves_ him, but he can’t, so he bites his lip and grips the counter top. “You’re welcome.”

Blaine gives him a grateful smile, his eyes shining endearingly with everything that goes unspoken, a soft ache of longing behind his gaze.

“So I was thinking,” Pam says suddenly as Blaine takes a seat at the kitchen table. “Maybe we could all go out to eat tonight? My treat,” she says cheerfully. Kurt’s eyes flicker toward Blaine briefly as he pours batter over the waffle maker. They have their date tonight.

“Oh, actually, I can’t Mom,” Blaine says after he shovels a forkful of food into his mouth. “I have plans tonight.”

He leaves it at that, which Kurt figures he can because he’s an adult, and Pam gives a nod, trying valiantly to hide her disappointment. “Oh, well, that’s alright sweetie.”

“Dad, actually, I was going to ask you if I could hang out with Puck tonight?” Kurt chirps in, flipping the waffle maker. He can feel the heat of Blaine’s gaze fixed on him from across the room.

“Well, I guess if Blaine can’t go tonight, then that would be fine,” his Dad nods at him, turning to Pam. “We could make it a date night just for us.”

Pam seems to cheer up at that thought. Burt looks back at Kurt, pointing his finger sternly. “No drinking though. You need to be safe and responsible. I know that boy can get crazy,” he says and Blaine chokes on his drink, spewing orange juice across the table.

“Sorry, swallowed wrong,” he gasps between labored coughs, and Kurt has to bite the inside of his cheek so hard he tastes blood to hold back his laughter, images of a drunken Blaine passed out on Puck’s dance floor floating back to him. 

It’s hard to say anything to Blaine throughout the day under the nose of both their parents. The only time Kurt catches him is when he not-so-subtly wanders into Blaine’s bathroom to look for a hair product, finding him in front of the mirror, fingers paused midway in their dance to button up his shirt.

Kurt shuts the door behind him quietly and presses a brief kiss to Blaine’s soft lips, one that’s sweet in its chasteness and scalding in its unexplored but achingly prominent desire that thirsts on the lingering promise of _more_ , later.

“Happy birthday, _sweetheart_ ,” he whispers into his ear, a slight teasing tone to his voice though he means the endearment genuinely. Blaine blushes a deep maroon, fingertips squeezing Kurt’s hip possessively in response, and just like that, Kurt leaves.

He wants to do more for Blaine, something beyond the insufficient deed of hastily made waffles. Something to show him that he’s important, and valued, and worth being cherished, strong and resilient and courageous after the experiences of the last few years, not destroyed or beaten. He aches so desperately for Blaine to understand how wonderful he is, to the same extent that Kurt feels blooming increasingly deeper in his bones each day.

He’s determined to show Blaine that his birthday can be a day of joyous celebration, not just a painful reminder of bitter memories. He’s deserving of so much more than that. 

The only problem is he can’t figure out exactly _what_ to get him. Kurt’s always thought of gift giving as a highly intimate sort of interaction, something that has to be genuine and well thought out and carefully executed in order to be effective, and he’s never been one to go half-assed on his gestures of affection.

There's also the issue of timing. He doesn’t know what he can get Blaine in the next few hours, and he realizes with some apprehension (this thing between them is still so exhilaratingly _new_ ), that he still doesn’t really know everything Blaine likes.

He drives to the mall around lunch, wandering aimlessly for a few hours with no narrowed intention until the endless selections overwhelm him and he stumbles into the jewelry store simply to browse the diamond necklaces distractedly until he can think of a gift idea.

The bracelet catches his eye when he isn’t searching for it. It’s a thin band, braided soft leather that’s beautifully simple, almost too plain to be something Kurt would normally consider, but he can’t tear his eyes away from it.

“See something you like?”

Kurt glances up at the woman who suddenly stands behind the display, a stout older lady with rosy cheeks and kind eyes of pooled emerald.

“Yes,” Kurt smiles. He points to the leather band. “That bracelet.”

The woman doesn’t drop her gaze to where Kurt’s pointing, instead keeping her eyes steady on his face, examining him slowly before a knowing smile creeps onto her lips. “Someone special?”

Kurt flushes. Is it really _that_ stupidly obvious?

“Mm hmm,” he hums a little shyly, positive he’s blushing bright pink, but he’s powerless to stop it at the thought of Blaine. It’s a thrilling feeling to finally acknowledge verbally that he does have a special someone, especially after he’s spent years trying to swallow the jagged acceptance that he might always be alone.

It’s not unreasonable that his enanmorment is stupidly obvious, he realizes. He’s fatuous with the new sensations of being in love. His swooned heart beats proudly, transparently, through his blushing skin and fidgety hands that yearn to tie the smooth leather around the soft skin of Blaine’s tanned wrists. 

The lady nods and Kurt chooses to ignore the amused look in her eyes. 

“What’s the occasion?”

“It’s his birthday,” Kurt’s answering before he can catch himself. Proclaiming loudly in a mall in the middle of Ohio that he’s shopping for his boyfriend might not be the brightest idea. But when he looks nervously at the lady, there’s no sign of judgement on her face, only a warm smile curling her lips and what Kurt thinks might be a tinge of reminiscence in her irises.

A strange sense of acceptance pours into his heart, a vibrant pride for Blaine that he’s never felt quite so strongly before, one that comes from revealing a small piece of their concealed connection to the eyes of the outside world.

The same astounding feeling that swarmed Kurt’s body the night before pangs through his chest again. He _loves_ Blaine. Even just being away from him these few hours has Kurt longing for his touch, his presence, missing his intoxicating smell and the flash of his smile that aligns Kurt’s heart into place.

“Can I suggest adding something?”

Kurt’s brought back to his surroundings by the woman’s question, his gaze falling upon the leather bracelet again. He nods eagerly. 

“Wait here.” The lady leaves Kurt alone to run his fingertips over the ridges of the braided leather, until she returns a moment later with a plush case, twelve charms situated in the velvet material.

They’re beautiful, small twinkling diamonds that dangle on a loop of silver and catch the light in a ray of dazzling colors. Kurt’s lips fall open in awe.

“They’re gorgeous,” he admires, and the lady gives a soft chuckle.

“I’ll attach one to the bracelet. Any one you choose, for free.”

Kurt’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “I-I don’t… I don’t understand. That’s very kind of you I mean, but… why?” he stutters, confused at the lady’s generosity. As he speaks, his eyes are drawn to one diamond in particular, a gem on the very left that shines a dripping hazel, hues of amber and light green swirling in the pointed crystal.

“What can I say?” The woman shrugs. “I’m a believer in young love.” She winks and Kurt ducks his head, his bashful smile impossible to hide. “Go on, pick one.”

She gestures to the row of diamonds. There’s no hesitation in Kurt’s answer.

“I’ll take that one, thank you,” he points to the honey colored gem. The woman hums, detaching it from the case. Kurt follows her to the counter, where she pulls out a pair of jewelry pliers and holds the leather bracelet carefully. 

“Any reason for this one in particular?” She asks as she sets a pair of glasses atop the ridge of her nose, plying the loop of silver open gently and attaching it to a curved strand on the bracelet.

Kurt watches her practiced motions for a moment. 

“It’s the color of his eyes,” he realizes with a soft intake of breath. He wasn’t even aware when it stole his attention, but it is, it’s the exact same golden color as Blaine’s beautiful irises, and the sight of it dangling off the bracelet is comforting, a twinkling essence of one of his favorite things about Blaine, one of the first things that captured his attention and seared into his bloodstream the night he saw him dancing on stage. 

When the bracelet is packaged neatly, wrapped in a bow that’s soft beneath his fingertips, Kurt pays for it, holding the woman’s gaze warmly as she hands it to him over the counter.

“Love is a beautiful thing, dear. Don’t ever give up on it,” she tells him.

The advice seems a little odd, (and a tad comically obvious), to Kurt. He couldn’t possibly give up on love now that he’s finally discovered the enriching beauty of it.

But he smiles gratefully nonetheless.

“I won’t,” he promises, and he leaves the mall on footsteps that feel lighter than air. 

……...

His stomach is a twisting flutter of excitement the rest of the day, eager and impatient for their date to come. He takes his time getting ready, coiffing his hair and restlessly changing his outfit over and over again, until he finally decides on a soft cashmere sweater and tight black jeans. 

When six o’ clock comes, there’s a knock on Kurt’s bedroom door that makes his heart race uncontrollably.

When he opens it, Blaine stands at the bottom of the stairs, dressed in a black coat and skinny jeans, his curls styled nicely and a red scarf wrapped around his neck. He hands a bouquet of dark red roses to Kurt.

“These are for you,” he smiles, his golden eyes bright and Kurt blushes, taking the flowers and smelling their thick, sweet scent.

“Thank you.” Kurt already feels giddy inside, his heartbeat loud in his ears. “You look nice,” he breathes, and the compliment is overly simplistic. Blaine looks devastatingly handsome. 

“So do you,” Blaine replies bashfully, sounding almost nervous in a way that makes Kurt’s heart stretch fondly. He leans forward, his lips catching Kurt’s slowly, tasting sweetly of mint.

“I’m going to leave now,” he breathes softly into Kurt’s ear, sending a shiver down his spine. “And in fifteen minutes, I want you to drive to the Lima Bean and meet me there. Sound good?”

Kurt nods, his head spinning from the close heat of Blaine, a soft smile never seeming to leave his lips.

“See you soon,” Blaine presses a soft kiss to his temple before he leaves. Kurt wanders into his room with dazed footsteps, finding a vase for the roses and setting them on his desk, his fingers running over the delicate petals in repeated motions. 

Fifteen minutes seems to pass in what feels like _hours_ , Kurt’s body thrumming with bubbling energy. When enough time has finally passed, Kurt leaves, yelling a goodbye to his Dad.

“Be safe!” Burt calls.

“I will!” Kurt smiles when he responds, knowing he’s never felt safer than when he’s with Blaine.

Blaine’s truck is parked in the corner of the Lima Bean parking lot, and Kurt spots him easily, propped against the side with two drinks in his hands. He swings his car in next to him and hops out, the cold fall air sharp on his cheeks.

Blaine pulls him into a firm hug when he approaches, warming Kurt from the cold as his arms wrap around him. “I got you your favorite.”

“Non-fat mocha?”

“Of course,” Blaine grins, handing Kurt his drink and rubbing up and down the side of his arm. “Come on, we don’t want to be late.”

“Ooh,” Kurt marvels as he hops into the passenger seat of Blaine’s truck, setting his drink in a cup holder and closing the door. “Do I get any idea of where we might be going?”

“Nope,” Blaine replies, settling behind the wheel and turning his keys in the ignition.

“Just a hint, pretty please?” Kurt bats his eyelashes innocently, stomach swirling with anticipation. 

“Your tricks aren’t going to work on me, Hummel,” Blaine smirks, reaching across the center console to take Kurt’s hand in his after he backs out of the parking lot.

The night sky fades from deep blue to rich black as they drive, singing along to the radio and sharing soft smiles. Kurt’s curiosity grows with every traveled mile, every comforting squeeze of Blaine’s hand, every warm sip of his coffee under the twinkling stars.

He can tell they’re nearing Columbus after a while, so he turns to Blaine with a raised eyebrow. “We’re not going to the club are we?”

Blaine laughs loudly, his eyes glistening in the dim moonlight. “No, we’re not.”

Kurt relaxes at that, settling into his seat until they eventually exit the freeway into a small town, quaint shops and restaurants lining the road, illuminated in fluorescent beams against the night sky. Blaine pulls into an alleyway next to a brick building, parking his truck in a back lot.

Kurt hops out of the truck, wrapping his coat tight around him as he observes the small brick building. “This kind of looks like a bar,” he says skeptically.

Blaine grabs his hands, ice cold fingers twining together as he walks backwards and pulls Kurt with him, white clouds of breath puffing into the dark night. “I may have lied, kind of. We are going to a club... of sorts.”

Kurt lets himself be pulled forward, Blaine’s smile shining brightly at him. His enthusiasm is infectious. “What exactly does that entail, Mr. tall, dark, and handsome?” he flirts.

Blaine snorts. “Tall?”

“Fine, Mr. short, dark, and handsome?”

Blaine grins at him, stopping his own movements and pulling Kurt flush to his chest. He kisses the tip of his nose, cold lips pricking Kurt’s skin. “Well, if I remember correctly, I had a promise to fulfill.”

Kurt furrows his eyebrows. “You did?”

“Someone said they’d love to hear me play the guitar,” he wiggles his eyebrows. Kurt stares at him blankly for a moment before looking at the building again, small and homey and hidden. His eyes widen as his brain suddenly clicks into place. 

“It’s a piano bar.”

“Yep,” Blaine nods, a sly grin fresh on his lips. “And it’s open mic night.”

“You’re going to sing?”

“Nope. You are.”

“ _What?_ ” Kurt’s body goes rigid with shock. 

“I’m going to accompany my incredibly beautiful boyfriend as he blows the fucking socks off of every audience member,” Blaine says softly, pressing a kiss to Kurt’s cheek. “I want everyone to see how talented you are.”

Kurt stares at him in disbelief. He has no problem singing in front of an audience, in fact he thrives when he’s performing to the raw energy of a crowd, but the spontaneity of Blaine’s proposal throws him unexpectedly, makes his stomach flutter with nerves. Blaine’s heard him sing before, but never like _this_.

“But… but it’s _your_ birthday,” Kurt protests weakly.

“Oh. Well then happy birthday to me, from me.” 

Blaine’s smile is positively devious. Kurt has the overwhelming urge to kiss it senselessly off of his lips. 

There’s a look of confidence on Blaine’s face, so resolutely certain of his plan, that Kurt finds himself smiling slowly, chuckling incredulously and realizing that, surprisingly, he’s not totally opposed to the idea if Blaine’s on stage with him. 

His mind draws short on a slight problem, however. “We haven’t practiced any songs.”

“We don’t need to. They have sheet music in there. We just have to pick something.”

“You… you don’t have your guitar.”

“Have you ever been to an open mic night?” Blaine laughs amusedly, and Kurt blushes.

“No,” he says, smacking Blaine’s arm when he laughs harder, an affectionate smile on his lips. “Stop laughing at me.”

“Sorry, you’re too damn adorable,” Blaine bites back his laughter, his eyes softening as he pulls Kurt close and kisses his lips warmly. “They have one for me to use. What do you say?”

Kurt stares into his wide eyes, his heart beating swiftly, until a laugh begins to bubble through him, not caring about anything else in the world with Blaine by his side. It’s something he would never do before, hesitant and timid and carefully planned in every maneuver, but things are _different_ now that he has Blaine. 

Blaine believes in him, appreciates and admires his talents in a way that still baffles Kurt’s brain, holds all the air in his lungs captive until the only thing left for him to do is nod breathlessly, his smile too-wide and goofy and his heart beating wildly in elation as he links his fingers with Blaine’s. “This is crazy. What the hell. Let’s do it.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Blaine grins, looking at Kurt like he can’t quite believe he’s real. 

Their hands swing between them as they walk toward the entrance, Blaine holding the door open for him as they slip inside the warm building.

The entryway is a small hallway, with restrooms straight to their left and a door to their right. Blaine pushes open the door, leading into the main room.

It’s dark inside, illuminated by strings of bright lights hanging from the low ceiling, casting a soft colored glow on the brick walls. A low platform sits in the middle of the room, decorated only by a piano, a stool, a guitar held on a stand, and a single microphone. Tables surround the room, all facing towards the stage and there’s a small bar in the back corner.

Blaine doesn’t let go out of Kurt’s hand as he leads him proudly across the room, weaving in and out of tables, and Kurt can’t help the butterflies that swarm his stomach because it’s the first time Blaine has ever held his hand in public.

There’s a relatively large crowd of people sitting at the tables for such a small space, their attention focused on the girl currently performing, her soft voice filling the cozy air beautifully. Some people smile at them as they pass, and it thrills Kurt, liberates him, fills his heart with pride and joy to be with Blaine like this, so openly displayed.

Blaine leads him to an open table, taking Kurt’s coat as he sits down and pulling his chair close to Kurt’s. The ambiance is raw, creative and relaxing as they watch the girl finish her performance, Blaine settling his arm around the back of Kurt’s chair and Kurt leaning comfortably against his shoulder.

The steady rhythm of Blaine’s chest rising and falling behind him unwinds every tense part of Kurt’s body until he loses himself entirely in the rich senses of the environment, the beautifully melodic sounds of the live music and the quiet, appreciative hums Blaine lets out periodically during a performance, the natural exuberance of his admiration for music making Kurt fall achingly harder for him, loving the passionate, genuine quirks of his personality that are slowly starting to shine through.

There’s a smell of homey cinnamon on the air, a light hint of beer, and the waft of lavender that Kurt’s coming to know distinctly well, one that associates with _Blaine_ and _excitement_ and everything feeling irreversibly correct. He leans back a little further into the solid weight of Blaine’s warm body, the comfortable feel of Blaine’s arms enveloping him, his breath exhaling in soft puffs against the skin of Kurt’s neck.

He loses track of how many people perform, entranced by the beauty of the show and the unity of random people over a universal expression that seems strangely intimate in a reassuring way, when suddenly Blaine leans forward a little, whispers into his ear, “You ready?”

Kurt’s body floods with panicked nerves.

“Are-are you sure this is a good idea? What if I don’t know any of the songs up there? What if I can’t follow you, or we get off, and it all just goes horribly, horribly wrong-“

“Kurt,” Blaine kisses the corner of his jaw so gently Kurt’s not certain if it was a conscious action. “Just trust me.”

And the enormity of those three words, the way they ground Kurt with surety and send his pulse racing simultaneously, leaves him confident in his impulse to take Blaine’s hand and follow him to the stage, as if his body, his soul, his _heart_ knows resolutely to trust Blaine before his mind can even consider it.

The eyes of the audience seem to multiply when they take the stage, Kurt’s knees trembling and his heart leaping into his throat. They watch him not unkindly, but expectantly, waiting for him to produce something that will awe them, something that Kurt has no preparations for. Blaine squeezes the small of his back reassuringly before moving to grab the guitar situated on a stand in the corner, and Kurt can read the silent message in his fingertips.

 _Breathe_.

Kurt glances through the song book in search of something, anything he might possibly even be vaguely familiar with, until he flips to a page and his hands still.

The song jumps off the page at him. It’s perfect.

“This one,” he whispers, handing it to Blaine, whose eyes light up as he reads the title and gaze adoringly back at Kurt. 

“When you’re ready,” he whispers and Kurt nods shakily, exhaling a heavy breath before turning back to the crowd, drifting tentatively toward the microphone. 

He squints at the too bright light that seems to pillar directly on him, making his skin uncomfortably hot beneath his thick sweater. He scans over the crowd for a moment until his eyes adjust to the tinted darkness of the audience and the wood of Blaine’s guitar catches on the light, shining in his peripheral vision.

“Uh,” Kurt breathes out shakily into the microphone, startled by the amplification of his voice. “Hi, everyone.”

There’s a few nods out in the crowd, a muffled murmur of acknowledgement and Kurt looks over to Blaine, seated on the stool just to his left, eyes twinkling and smile encouraging.

It’s the soft glimmer of awe glowing on his face that compels Kurt to take a calming breath, summoning the courage to straighten a little taller and grip a hold of his nerves.

“Someone very special to me is celebrating a birthday today and so… I’d like to sing this for him.”

He steps back slightly and nods at Blaine, who looks at him fondly and begins pulling at his strings in a beautiful riff that instantly softens Kurt’s heart and dissipates his nerves completely. He’s exceptional. Kurt’s not sure why he’s still surprised.

The energy that pulls between them in every other aspect carries over seamlessly into the music as it spreads sweetly into the soft space. They breathe in sync together over every count as Kurt watches Blaine closely, the progression of his chords and the heat in his gaze a silent language that Kurt understands. The music breaks naturally and Kurt opens his mouth without a second thought.

“ _There were bells on a hill,_ ” his voice soars from somewhere clear and unblemished inside his chest. “ _But I never heard them ringing._ ” Suddenly the words become effortless as he stares at Blaine, their gaze connecting and holding tightly on an invisible electric wire that Kurt can feel connecting and vibrating straight to the center of his heart.

“ _No, I never heard them at all,_ ” he breathes. Blaine’s fingers strum in flawless patterns as he watches Kurt intently. “ _Till there was you._ ”

His lips curve into a smile. Blaine ducks his head, smiles back beautifully and continues playing, neither one of them bothering to look at their sheet music.

“ _There were birds in the sky, but I never saw them winging,_ ” Kurt shrugs his shoulders playfully at Blaine and he faintly hears laughter from somewhere in the audience. The only thing in focus is the stretch of Blaine’s pink lips as he smiles wider, gazes at Kurt like he can see the beating glow of his heart. “ _No I never saw them at all, Till there was you._ ” 

Suddenly the music changes, the melody extending higher as the phrase of notes grows and Kurt detaches the microphone from its stand, taking it in hand and walking closer to Blaine, not even attempting to look at the audience as his legs are pulled by some unnameable force toward him.

“ _Then there was music and wonderful roses,_ ” he sings, holds Blaine’s fiery gaze as he stops in front of him. “ _They tell me, in sweet fragrant meadows of dawn and dew._ ”

Blaine looks up at him with wide, reflective eyes, and Kurt reaches out to caress his fingers gently across his cheek, his body bringing the message of his song to life.

“ _There was love, all around. But I never heard it singing._ ” Kurt’s heart picks up speed as the words ring clearly in his fluttering chest, the love that had never entered his life until Blaine miraculously stumbled into it surrounding them in an encasing bubble, nothing existing except the world of the gently plucked rhythm from Blaine’s guitar and the melody of Kurt’s voice meshing and twining together harmoniously to create a beautifully tailored symphony. 

“ _No, I never heard it at all, Till there was you._ ”

Blaine turns his face to the side and kisses sweetly into the palm of Kurt’s hand as he strums into the interlude. Kurt breathes heavily, feels the music coursing through him like a powerful stream, the rampant love for the boy beneath him expressed in the chorus of his voice that suddenly seems entirely too intrusive for the audience's ears.

When he brings the microphone back to his mouth for the final verse, something inside him switches, moves to communicate solely to Blaine in a way that only he will be able to translate into feeling.

“ _Il y avait de l’amour tout autor. Mais je n’ai jamais entendu chanter._ ” His tongue rolls silkily over the syllables. Blaine gasps slightly, a cloud of mesmerized awe leaking into his eyes. His fingers stutter briefly over the strings.

“ _Non, je n’en ai jamais entendu parler,_ ” Kurt smiles down at him, strips his heart bare and confesses his love to him in a way he’s entirely certain he wouldn’t have the courage to do in any other setting. He knows Blaine doesn’t understand his words, but it manifests itself clearly through the tremor in his voice, the gathering of overwhelmed tears he feels pooling behind his eyes.

He’s telling Blaine as clear as day, under the bright lights of the stage that illuminate only them in this moment, his fingertips brushing Blaine’s stubble and Blaine’s eyes gazing so wide, Kurt can make out every individual speck of color in his irises with distinction, recognizing the color of his own racing emotions in their shine. 

“ _Jusqu'à ce qu’il y ait toi._ ” 

Blaine strums the final chord as Kurt holds the note on a lingering breath, until they finish together and the music echoes softly into the silence. There’s a moment of paused stillness where nobody seems to breathe and Kurt can’t move, his body paralyzed and his chest fixed in place. Blaine sits motionless on the stool, his eyes shining with some deeper, something moved, as if he’s finally found resolve for something that’s been troubling him for years.

They’re still staring breathlessly at each other when the audience begins to clap, and it takes a few moments before the sound hits them in a wave and they both seem to recover at the same instant.

Kurt’s chest falls rapidly in a breath he hadn’t even known he was suspending. Blaine rises from the stool, placing the guitar gently back onto the stand before turning around and walking straight towards Kurt.

He stops mere inches from Kurt’s face, so close that Kurt can feel his hot breath ghosting against his lips. Before Kurt can process what’s happening, Blaine’s fingers cup around the back of his neck and his head is being tipped back. His eyelids flutter closed instinctively.

There, in the middle of the stage, Blaine kisses Kurt deeply to the sounds of the cheering audience, fitting their lips together in a slow tug that makes Kurt’s head dizzy with how hard his heart pulses. Blaine’s lips taste like coming home.

Kurt’s hands raise to grasp Blaine’s wrists, and even when Blaine pulls back, their hands stay wrapped together, holding Kurt’s face. His eyelids blink open slowly, the beautiful image of Blaine against the lights of the stage filtering into his vision.

Blaine’s eyes sparkle with something Kurt’s never seen before, something that makes his toes twist in his shoes. His heart feels wrapped around his tongue.

“Blaine, I-”

“I know,” Blaine nods, his smile gentle. Kurt’s heart leaps from his body. “I know.”

Blaine leads him off the stage, stopping briefly to collect their coats from the backs of their chairs, before guiding Kurt out of the club into the freezing chill of the nighttime air. 

……....

The night is sublime.

Kurt’s not even sure how it happens. Everything is a blur of adrenaline as they stumble through the parking lot, the cool metal of the truck suddenly against his back as Blaine presses into him and kisses him deeply.

He’s inebriated on the close heat of Blaine, the way his heart hasn’t seemed to return to his body yet, high in the air as he opens the back door of Blaine’s truck and pulls him inside.

He finds himself spread out along the length of the back bench, Blaine’s body strong and solid on top of him as he kisses down Kurt’s neck, pulls the soft skin past his lips in a suctioning heat that has Kurt arching off the leather seats.

Kurt moans, pulls at Blaine’s shoulders until Blaine is kissing his lips again. He wraps his lips around the sweet, hot taste of Blaine’s mouth, a whiplash of fire ripping down Kurt’s spine as Blaine groans into his mouth.

“You’re so incredible,” Blaine whispers hot into his ear, the words dancing through Kurt’s head as his fingers tighten in Blaine’s shirt. “So beautiful,” he kisses down Kurt’s neck, runs his tongue along the arch of Kurt’s collarbone that’s peeking out from underneath his neckline. “So talented,” his hands steady on Kurt’s hips.

“Blaine,” Kurt breathes, running his hands through the spring of Blaine’s curls. There’s a clenching of want deep in his belly, something that aches with it’s ravenous craving for more. More of what, he’s not even sure.

Blaine pulls back a little, gazes down at Kurt with charged eyes that invigorate a wire of need in Kurt’s core. There’s an edge of softness around his eyes, a glow of endearment that makes Kurt restless with the desire to pull him even closer, even though there’s physically no space left between them.

“I want to do something for you,” Blaine whispers, his voice gentle and caring and weighted with promise. “Can I do something?”

Kurt pulls his lip between his teeth, finds Blaine’s hand and laces their fingers together. His stomach swoops with the unfamiliarity of this terrain, of letting someone else explore his body, but he trusts Blaine, knows that Blaine will take care of him and lead him safely through it like he did the night before.

He nods. Blaine kisses the jut of his bottom lip softly. “I’ll stop as soon as you tell me to, I promise,” he assures, and Kurt nods again.

“Okay,” he smiles, his heartbeat loud in his ears. Blaine matches his smile, his slightly crooked teeth shining as curls begin to loosen from his gel and frame his face.

Kurt's fingers stay locked with Blaine's as he kisses down Kurt’s neck again, shuffles back awkwardly in the tight space of the car to mouth down the soft wool of Kurt’s sweater, a strangely erotic gesture that Kurt's positive doesn’t taste very good but makes his own skin flush hot underneath his clothes.

When Blaine's lips reach the hem of Kurt’s sweater, Kurt scoots up the bench to give him a little more room, his legs falling open instinctively. Blaine pulls at the bottom of his sweater gently, his eyes gazing up to find Kurt’s.

“Okay?” he asks quietly and Kurt nods, squeezing his fingers, his heart dangling in anticipation.

Blaine pushes his sweater up and leans down, kissing at the pale flesh of Kurt’s stomach in sucking kisses that are like hot sparks of fire against his skin. Kurt's hips buck up in response and he stifles his moan with the back of his hand, embarrassed at his reaction to the light touch.

Blaine reaches up and pulls his hand away. “It’s okay. Let me hear you.”

Kurt stares down at him between his legs, his eyes glistening, nodding as he breathes heavily. Blaine leans down again, kissing at Kurt’s stomach until the muscles in Kurt’s belly are pulled tight and throbbing. There’s a mischievous grin on Blaine’s lips before he dips his tongue into Kurt’s belly button and Kurt squeaks.

“Asshole,” Kurt tugs on his hair lightly while Blaine giggles, and then he's shuffling on his knees further up Kurt’s body and Kurt’s knees spread wider.

He keeps pushing at the sweater until a cool breeze chills at Kurt’s suddenly exposed nipples, tightening them into hardened nubs. The first touch of the tip of Blaine’s tongue against one makes Kurt cry out.

“ _Blaine,_ ” he whines at the sensitive spark of pleasure that shoots downward, rushing alongside his blood toward his half hard cock that fattens against his thigh, pressing into the seam of his pants. His hands thread into Blaine’s hair, holding him there as Blaine swirls his tongue wetly around Kurt’s nipple.

He cries out again when Blaine moves to the other one, pulling it lightly between his teeth and tweaking it in a thrill of sharp pleasure just on the cusp of pain.

“God, Kurt, you’re perfect,” Blaine gasps reverently, rubbing his face against the soft skin of Kurt’s stomach, breathing him in. Kurt swallows.

“Yeah?” he teases and Blaine grins up at him.

“Yeah,” he nods, kissing down Kurt’s stomach, lower and lower and Kurt begins to throb the closer he gets to where he’s hot and aching.

Blaine kisses along the waistband of his jeans, grazing his teeth against the light hair, tickling and teasing. Kurt squeezes his hand. Blaine’s so close to where Kurt yearns for him.

“Blaine-”

“Further? Can I go further?”

“ _Please,_ ” Kurt swallows, closing his eyes when Blaine’s hand treads carefully to his zipper, the ripping sound loud against the still air of their labored breathing.

His heart races uncontrollably, a small fraction of terrified fear rising in his chest as he raises his hips and lets Blaine pull his jeans down his thighs. Kurt’s red flush extends all the way down his neck.

He’s about to pull back, to cover himself and hide from Blaine’s gaze even though it’s too dark in the car to see anything clearly, when Blaine laces their fingers together and closes his eyes, nuzzling his cheek against the outline of Kurt’s cock in his briefs.

The pressure makes Kurt’s back arch sharply, his hips canting towards Blaine’s face. Blaine’s eyelids flutter open and he glances up at Kurt.

“I want to taste you.”

Kurt figured that was where they were going, but the words still make his stomach twist sharply with something hot and eager, something that soothes into loving desire when he finds the admiration in Blaine’s gaze. He’s looking at Kurt as if he wants nothing more in the entire world.

“You can,” Kurt says breathlessly, grants Blaine permission to hook his fingers in Kurt’s briefs and pull down until Kurt’s shivering against the air, puffs of Blaine’s close breath warming against his cock.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Blaine whispers, running the tip of his finger down the vein on the underside of Kurt’s length, flushed pink and thick against his stomach, jutting from a patch of trimmed chestnut pubic hair. “You are absolutely beautiful.”

Kurt’s cock stiffens further under the praise, his chest still rising at a rapid speed. The wonderment on Blaine’s face makes Kurt want to burst into grateful tears.

Blaine’s head seems to lower in slow motion, his lips spreading wide around the head of Kurt’s cock, and even though Kurt’s watching, he’s completely unprepared for the heat of Blaine’s mouth sinking down around him.

It’s tight, and hot, and velvety in its wetness, unlike anything Kurt has ever felt before, enveloping his shaft in warmth that extends all the way up his body. Blaine hums around him, the vibrations electric through Kurt’s spine, his eyelids fanned in dark lashes against his cheeks and his eyebrows furrowed as he pushes down as far as he can go, takes Kurt all the way to the back of his throat.

Kurt’s lips fall open and his face screws up tight, the pleasure speeding through him in a million different directions, heightening higher and higher until Kurt feels everything inside him stretch impossibly sharp, and he snaps.

When Blaine runs his tongue through Kurt’s slit, lapping at the pearled pre come, Kurt comes without warning, moaning Blaine’s name as he spurts wave after wave of come into Blaine’s mouth, who wraps his lips around him and swallows through it, pumping the base of Kurt’s cock with one hand until Kurt collapses backwards, exhausted.

He doesn’t register anything past the ringing in his ears as he comes down, vaguely processing Blaine tucking him back in gently. Blaine crawls back up his body and Kurt pulls him down immediately, kissing his lips fervently and gasping when he realizes the slight tang on Blaine’s tongue is _himself_.

He licks into Blaine’s mouth, pulls hard at his neck to get him closer because he never wants to stop tasting, stop loving the brilliant man above him.

“You just gave me a blowjob,” Kurt states rather stupidly and Blaine laughs against Kurt’s over-heated neck.

“Can’t argue with that.”

“You just-” Kurt looks up at him adoringly, his orgasm addled mind struggling to grasp that Blaine just gave him a _fucking_ blowjob. In the backseat of his truck. “You… Blaine… I-”

“Oh my God,” Blaine gasps, feigning worry. “Did I break Kurt Hummel?”

“Oh, be quiet,” Kurt giggles, swatting at Blaine’s arm. “Kiss me again, you idiot.”

Blaine does, leaning down and capturing Kurt’s lips slowly with a smile, slipping his tongue into his mouth and tasting him sweetly.

In a daring move that comes out of nowhere, Kurt slides his hands down Blaine’s back as he kisses him and grabs his ass, fitting his palms around the plump globes and pulling Blaine closer.

Blaine’s hard in his pants and he hisses when Kurt connects their hips together, biting softly at Kurt’s lips. Kurt angles his hips slightly to the side so Blaine won’t rub against where’s he’s sensitive, and then he pushes at Blaine’s ass until Blaine catches on and begins rutting against the bone of Kurt’s hip.

“This okay?”

“Mmhmm,” Blaine groans. “So much more than okay.”

It doesn’t take long until Blaine’s stilling above him, whining against Kurt’s shoulder, who kisses at his throat softly until he comes down, sweaty and panting as he lowers his weight on top of Kurt.

Kurt shifts until they both lie on their sides, chests pressed together in the limited space, lips trading lazy kisses and smiles soft as Blaine runs sweeping fingers through Kurt’s fallen bangs.

“Damn, Hummel. You’ve made me come in my pants twice in the past twenty-four hours.”

“Do I get a prize?” Kurt teases, raising an eyebrow and giggling when Blaine nips at his lips. The air of the car reeks of sex and sweat, and some part of Kurt is admittedly embarrassed to find that he loves it.

It’s then that Kurt sends the night to hell in a single question.

He blames it on the sated pleasure coursing through his body, the way his mind is lax with wandering fantasy and an endless stream of blushing romance fueled by the fire in Blaine’s golden eyes.

He feels safe in the cocoon they’ve created between them, emotions vulnerable and raw and passing in dynamic, layered dimensions, his heart beating swiftly with the uncontrollable love he feels for Blaine after their night, the tender admittance of Kurt’s feelings during their performance and Blaine’s enthusiastic response in the dim lights of the parking lot that has Kurt resolutely, foolishly, sure that Blaine loves him back, that Blaine will be honest, open with him if he finally asks him.

It feels like the perfect moment, with Blaine holding him close, fingertips caressing Kurt’s skin in gentle patterns.

“Why are you still working as a dancer?”

Blaine’s fingers still, his eyes drawing blank. “I’m not sure exactly what you’re asking.”

Kurt loops his finger gently through one of Blaine’s curls. “I just… you got that job to support you and your Mom, but you’re living with us now so… I guess I’m just wondering why you’ve kept it.”

Blaine tenses underneath him at his words. When he speaks, his voice is pulled taut. “I still need a job, Kurt. Your Dad doesn’t support me,” he looks at Kurt with furrowed eyebrows. “He doesn’t even support my Mom financially, not yet.”

“No, no, I know that,” Kurt assures him, swallowing the embarrassment blossoming in his chest. He didn’t know that. He feels stupid for assuming. “But you were incredible on that stage tonight. You blew me away with your talent and it hasn’t just been tonight, but every time I’ve seen you sing, or play the piano, or,” he gestures out the window. “The guitar. You could be performing this way, in an honest way that you love instead of-”

“Instead of selling my body?” Blaine interrupts, a dark look in his eyes that Kurt can’t decipher. “Instead of something shameful and disgusting?”

“Blaine,” Kurt breathes carefully, feeling as if he’s unintentionally walked into a trap. He’s unsure how to reverse this safely. “That’s not what I said.”

“It’s what you’re implying though, isn’t it?”

“I never said what you did was disgusting-”

“I know you think it though,” Blaine says quietly. There’s a hardening defense raising around his voice, around the soft look in his eyes, and Kurt feels frantic all of the sudden.

“I don’t think that,” Kurt shakes his head, and he doesn’t. He doesn’t think Blaine is disgusting and he doesn’t want the caring intention behind him wanting to help Blaine move on get twisted. “I want you to see that you’re worth more than that-”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Kurt,” Blaine cuts him off and Kurt’s pulse escalates. What is happening? “I’m good at what I do.”

“You hate it, Blaine!” Kurt cries incredulously, gaping confusedly at him. “It makes you miserable, you’ve told me that.”

“And I also told you that I tried a career in music and I failed. Do you not remember that or do you only hear what you want to hear?”

The words feel like a slap in the face. Kurt pulls his lips between his teeth and wills himself not to cry. There’s a flash of regret mixed with the rage in Blaine’s eyes, but Kurt can tell he’s not going to back down.

“That was a little uncalled for.”

“No, what’s uncalled for is you judging me after you told me you didn’t have a problem with my job.”

“And I don’t,” Kurt pleads, reaching for Blaine’s hands. He pulls them away before Kurt can grab them and Kurt can feel the rip in his heart beginning to pull apart. “But you also said you wanted me to help you.”

“This isn’t helping me, Kurt, this is shaming me for something I did to provide for myself and the people I love,” Blaine says coldly, sitting up and running a hand through his hair. Kurt feels a surge of anger pulse through his chest. Blaine isn’t listening.

“There’s no need to provide for yourself that way anymore, Blaine. That is what I’m trying to tell you. You’re using this as an escape, as an excuse-”

“An escape from what, Kurt?” Blaine yells, and the volume in his voice makes Kurt shrink back a little. “An escape from a world that already rejected me?”

“You are too young,” Kurt breathes quietly, firmly. “And too talented, too passionate dammit, Blaine, if you only let yourself realize it, to throw away your life at that place because of one bad experience!”

“One bad experience?” Blaine gawks at him with hurt eyes. “You call two years of abuse and hell at NYADA one bad experience?”

The words are sour thrown back at Kurt, scratching into his heart. He didn’t mean it like that. “Blaine…”

“You don’t know the torture I went through.”

“You’re right,” Kurt reasons, raising his palms in surrender. “I don’t. I don’t know what you went through, but I can see you now, and what this is doing to you-”

“Don’t do that,” Blaine spits. Kurt’s heart contracts painfully. Where is the Blaine that kissed him sweetly not ten minutes ago?

“D-do what?”

“Don’t pretend like you know me.” There’s a sharp edge of pain to Blaine’s voice that confuses Kurt, makes his head spin.

“But I do know you,” Kurt says quietly, his heart aching as he stares at Blaine, beautifully tanned muscles and dark curly hair that Kurt loves. He takes a deep breath. “I love-”

“Don’t,” Blaine shakes his head and the word is like a thunderclap, deafening in Kurt’s ear. It’s only then that Kurt realizes there are tears streaming down Blaine’s face.

Kurt’s heart squeezes so tightly in his chest he feels on the brink of passing out, his stomach swirling with nausea. “Blaine,” he tries weakly.

“People like me there, Kurt,” Blaine says so quietly Kurt almost doesn’t hear him. “It’s the only thing I’ve ever been good at. Maybe it is an escape, but I wouldn’t have anything without it.”

“You’d have me,” Kurt’s response is immediate, timid and painful in its release because he doesn’t even know if Blaine wants him anymore.

When Blaine shakes his head, Kurt’s heart shatters apart completely.

“I shouldn’t.”

“What?”

“I shouldn’t have you,” Blaine finally looks over his shoulder at Kurt. Kurt feels seconds away from throwing up.

“You’re giving up on us?” Kurt asks brokenly, his ears ringing. “Just like that?”

“I’m not giving up, I’m letting you go before you waste your time falling for someone who can’t love you back.”

Kurt freezes completely in shock at Blaine’s words. He hears the sob fall between his lips before he registers that he’s crying. Blaine looks away from him, his chest heaving with restraint, as if he’s fighting his body’s instinct to pull Kurt into his arms.

Kurt’s vision blurs with tears as they sit in uncomfortable silence, his skull throbbing so intensely with a lodged ache that when Blaine looks back at him, eyes hurting and broken, and breathes a shattered, “Kurt-”, the only response Kurt has is a jerk of his head.

“Just take me home,” he whispers. “Please.”

The drive back to Lima feels like hours, the gap between them widening further and further until Kurt feels like he’s riding in a completely different car then Blaine, on a completely different plane of thought that makes him feel terribly isolated.

He can’t help but beat himself up as they drive, over and over again until he feels worthless, disgusted and rejected and foolishly naive. 

How stupid he was to think for a moment that Blaine loved him, that he was more to him than a piece of insignificant fun, someone conveniently willing and there for his pleasure.

How stupid he was to give a part of himself away, an untouched, sacred part of himself irreversibly, carelessly, one that he can never get back, one that rests in the palm of someone who looked into his heart and decided it wasn't worth loving.

Was anything between them real? Was everything that happened in the past month perceived by Kurt's naive eyes, by the part of himself controlled hopelessly by his longing heart, guileless and trusting and gullible in the novel idea that somebody might finally want him?

He trusted him. And he thought, for a small, ridiculous moment, that Blaine trusted him, that Blaine loved him, too. The thought feels insulting in Kurt's head, agonizingly taunting to his heart. How was his judgement so clouded, his sense of reason so diluted?

Blaine doesn't love him. Blaine doesn't even _care_ about him. And the worst part of it all, worse than hearing Blaine tell him he could never love him, is that some part of Kurt knew before all of this happened that it would end up this way, that he would walk away from this with his heart shattered.

And he still hadn't listened.

And still, stupidly and frustratingly and so damn infuriating that Kurt wants to tear something to pieces the same way Blaine did his heart, he can't seem to hate him. He wants to. He wants to despise him with every part of his being.

But he doesn't.

He's still despairingly in love with him.

And Kurt knows with twinging surety that it is love. Because now he also knows the cruel absence of it, too.

He was innocent, and inexperienced, and that's all he'll ever be in Blaine's eyes. Nothing more than a child.

When they arrive at the Lima Bean parking lot, Kurt hops out of the truck without a second glance at him, stumbling in barely strung pieces until he unlocks his car and collapses into the drivers seat, breaking down completely in sobs against the steering wheel. The light of Blaine's headlights illuminate the cabin of his car mockingly as he drives away.

Drives home, Kurt remembers. To the same home Kurt is returning to.

It's then that something clatters out of the pocket of his coat, shining brightly in the air as it falls to the floor by his feet.

With trembling hands, Kurt picks up the bracelet, rolls down his window, and chucks it across the parking lot.

He puts his car in reverse and with a splintered heart, shattered into ugly fragments that bleed into his stomach, he drives home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back!
> 
> The song Kurt sung is "Till There Was You" by The Beatles :)
> 
> I'm sorry I was gone for so long, but I bring good news! I've already written the next four chapters, so they will be posted each Monday for the next four weeks without delay!
> 
> Comments and Kudos are greatly appreciated! Tell me how you're feeling after this chapter!
> 
> Thank you all for your support! I love all my readers!
> 
> (I'm trying to be overly positive in this note to compensate for the ending of this chapter... lol I'm going to go hide from the wrath k byeeeee)


	10. Second Chances.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some very important plot points in this chapter refer to things discussed back in chapter 5, so if you need to refresh your memory, that's a great place to start :)
> 
> (at this point you might need to reread the entire story to refresh your memory)

[ _Eight Years Ago._ ]  


Blaine rubs his slick palms against the rough material of his pants, trying to swallow the nerves that are bubbling up his throat back down to his stomach.

He’s been through this routine a hundred times before. It grips a hold of him from time to time, that wonderful, inspiring surge of confidence, so promising and enticing and full of unadulterated hope.

Today is the day. Tonight is the night. The night where everything will change, where he’ll finally stop living a lie, where he’ll finally get to openly embrace every part of himself- flaws and strengths alike- to the fullest extent, to the point that so beautifully, so authentically, weaves him to be who he truly is.

Except, it never is the day. He always surrenders to fear at the last moment, always loses his courage and shrinks into the safety of hiding, where he doesn't feel _happy_ but he at least feels safe.

But tonight he won't lose his courage. 

It's his fifteenth birthday and he feels older, mature, confident and certain and maybe, just maybe, if he says it tonight he'll be taken seriously. Maybe his Dad will even be proud of him. Blaine tries not to follow that path of hope too closely, but it plants itself in the back of his mind like a festering seed regardless.

He feels nervous, nearly petrified with fear when he lets himself think about it for too long, but he also feels a tad giddy in a way he knows is almost entirely too indulgent, admittedly excited at the prospect of what could be if all goes well.

Acceptance. Pride. Understanding.

He's never disappointed his parents before.

He doesn't say it when he means to. He has a whole speech planned out in his head- a certain way he's supposed to be standing and a perfect segway of how he'll bring it up, and everything was going to be just right, he was going to minimize the damage as much as possible, except-

Except he swallows down the first bite of the cake his Mom made for him and blurts it out on the next intake of breath.

"I'm Gay."

The rate at which all the air and motion and life in the room seems to be vacuumed away is nearly instantaneous, so quick and sharp Blaine’s lungs suddenly struggle to draw breath.

The silence around the dinner table is deafening. His Mom's fork hangs suspended in the air, her eyes frozen wide, and his Dad, _God_ , his Dad is completely rigid, his face paler than Blaine has ever seen it.

Every fleeting ounce of giddiness shrinks away as Blaine's stomach begins to squirm, crawl and flip and travel up his body in nauseating waves because they just keep _staring_ at him, completely silent, and now that he's said it he knows it can never be taken back.

It’s like he’s been living his life with his foot pressed up against an invisible line he’s never dared to cross, timid and toeing and cautious, and then suddenly, foolishly, he’s hurled his entire body over the tip to the other side in a single motion, and now he can’t turn back around, can't ever hide it away again, can’t ever go back to what he knows would have always protected him on the other side.

And his Dad is looking at him intently, stone cold and completely still. Looking at him like he's suddenly a different person. Like somebody has flipped an irreversible switch and everything he knew about Blaine is crumbling away. His eyes steel over, fire to life ferociously, hard and angry and disgusted.

A dark feeling floods deep into Blaine’s body, pools of poisonous liquid that burn through his muscles. 

Blaine feels the skin of his cheek raise hot, shape into the outline of his Dad's open palm, stinging and sharp, but he can't quite piece together what's just happened. It takes his Mom's horrified gasp sounding on the air for him to realize that his Dad has just struck him.

He's not sure which to grab first, the throbbing flesh of his cheek or the aching pulse in his chest where his heart squeezes in so much pain he nearly doubles over. 

How could his Dad, his Dad who _loves_ him, who thinks of Blaine as his greatest accomplishment, who Blaine has never let down once, _hit him_?

The tears try to fall but they can't, stuck behind Blaine's eyes, moving with the speed of his brain that’s delayed, slow and stalled and sluggish as he tries to process what's happening. He's no different than he was ten minutes ago but suddenly everything around him is shifted; the air that touches his skin is chilling, his lungs are pulled unbearably tight, and he feels terrified to be sitting in his own home, inhabiting his own despicable body.

His Dad finally gains control of his voice then, looking down at Blaine with eyes full of regret and disappointment, revulsion that feels like a knife plunging straight into Blaine's gut. 

"Don't you ever say something so disgusting in my home again. My son is not a faggot."

Something inside Blaine breaks, something youthful and sweet and full of hope, something that cracks and shatters and twists violently sour.

He can physically feel it, a prominent pain that churns brittle and snaps in his body. That part of himself that blackens. The part of himself that dies.

He watches his Dad stand abruptly from the table and leave the dining room. The house is hauntingly silent aside from the distant sound of a door slamming.

His Mom says nothing, and when Blaine looks up at her with an aching cheek and a broken heart, there are tears hanging heavy in her eyes. She slides her hand gently into Blaine's.

He hardly feels it. His whole body feels numb.

And he knows, with those two cosmic words, things will never be the same. 

.......

The difficult thing about breaking up with your boyfriend when he lives in the same house as you is that Blaine has to keep _seeing_ him everywhere he goes- though Kurt makes a valiant effort to avoid Blaine at all costs.

Every time he sees Kurt, even for just the fleeting moment that they run into each other in the kitchen and Kurt makes some flustered excuse about needing to go dust his bedroom (which Blaine knows is immaculately clean), Blaine has to look at his gorgeous face and be reminded.

Reminded of how Kurt looked in the backseat of Blaine's truck, painted by the shadows of dim streetlights and glowing stars, bright eyes and cherry kissed lips and tousled hair from where his nimble fingers had threaded through it while Blaine kissed him, took him into his mouth and sucked the sweet smelling skin of his body.

Reminded of the wretched, heart-broken look tugging at his lips and crumpling the corner of his eyes as Blaine fucked everything up. 

Just like he always does. It was only a matter of time before he ruined something so perfect.

He hates himself, hates that he put that look on Kurt's face, that he made him hurt, that he made him _cry_ , every sob cutting deep into Blaine's skin, edging away at his heart.

Because _of course_ he loves Kurt.

He's loved Kurt since the moment he saw his blue eyes simmering in the crowd, since the moment Kurt came home halfway through their dinner and stumbled into the seat next to Blaine, breathless and beautiful.

He hasn’t stopped loving him for a single beating second in between, with so much depth he feels consumed by it, and every part of his body aches for Kurt's soft skin, for the chime of his laugh, the feel of his body in Blaine's arms, even just to hear the sound of his voice talking aimlessly about nothing in particular. Blaine could listen to him for hours.

And it feels like a spear impaled straight through his heart to know that Kurt thinks he doesn't love him. That he resents him.

Kurt had been harsh. Judgmental, rude, and implicitly uncalled for. His words and his accusations wounded Blaine, but not for much longer than a few moments.

Because what hurt the deepest, what he has no right to hold against anyone except himself, is the fact that everything he said had been true.

Kurt brought the veracity of everything Blaine already knows deep down up and smacked it straight into his face, where he had no choice but to acknowledge it, and Blaine had been angry, but what had appeared as anger directed at Kurt was nearly entirely a front to assuage the undiluted hatred he felt boiling deep inside for himself.

So he did what he does best, what he always does when he's confronted with ugly truth and the reality of what he's done with his life.

He coward.

He retracted and concealed and put up defenses, defenses that Kurt has broken through a hundred times before, so this time he made them harder, impenetrable and vicious.

He had been making progress too- learning to let love and hope back into his battered soul with Kurt's help, with Kurt's loving heart and generous belief. 

He thought he could change.

But his immediate, instinctive reaction to Kurt's prying questions cemented his fears to him. 

He's still broken, still hurting, still cruel and vile and repulsive and maybe some part of him is always going to be too damaged to really be fixed.

He had no choice but to tell Kurt he couldn't love him back.

Because he can't really, can he?

Not in the way Kurt deserves. He cannot, _will not_ , ruin Kurt.

He can't afford to ruin himself anymore, though it's exactly what he's still managing to do.

He loves Kurt with all that he is, but all that’s remaining of himself is nowhere near enough to give to another person, and so protecting Kurt means not allowing himself fall for Kurt, even though he knows, deep down, the way he’s fallen for him is so irretrievable it will penetrate him for the rest of his life.

It stings hard like a bitch every time he sees him, and the longing is intense, deep and twining and tugging firm at Blaine's stomach. He catches sight of Kurt one morning in the kitchen before school, still in his flannel pajamas though his hair has already been coiffed to perfection, and the sight of his broad shoulders and sharp jawline makes Blaine's chest hurt.

"Good morning," Blaine tries quietly. It's unfair of him to break Kurt's heart so cruelly and still expect Kurt to talk to him, but he's exceptionally selfish, and he misses their interactions, misses Kurt at least _looking_ at him.

Kurt jumps slightly, apparently too lost in thought to notice the arrival of Blaine's presence, but as soon as he registers Blaine is there his spine stiffens and he moves away from him quickly, retreating to the kitchen table while muttering a quick, "Morning."

The contrast of how they communicate is startling in comparison to just a week ago. Kurt is cold around him, defensive and jumpy and somewhat terrified of him, Blaine thinks, because his blue eyes widen bright and reflective like a deer caught in headlights every time he sees him.

Blaine yearns for the way Kurt’s smile used to light up, dazzling and brilliant and bashful in that way that made Blaine’s body restless with the itch to drag him close and kiss all the air out of his lungs. 

"Um... I hope you have a good day," is all Blaine can think to say, and he wants to say more, that he's sorry and he didn't mean it and he _does_ love him, but where would that lead them? 

Right back to where they were before, with Kurt waiting for him to be something he's not.

Kurt looks up at him then, jaw firm and nose flared and a pinkness to his cheeks that Blaine adores, and it all feels horribly wrong, the unyielding coldness in his eyes and the way his eyebrows furrow like there’s a bitter taste on his tongue. "I seriously doubt that."

It's mean, but Blaine deserves it. Kurt’s angry and he has every right to be.

Blaine despises himself.

He closes his eyes, swallows down the pain and the longing to drop to his knees and beg for Kurt's forgiveness.

It's better this way. Kurt will get over him.

He's not sure he'll ever get over Kurt.

"I do," Blaine chokes around the words. Kurt’s eyes soften marginally, but then he looks away, and Blaine knows there's really nothing left for him to say.

........

He spends a few days feeling terribly isolated and close to bursting with everything trapped heavy and weighted inside of him.

Days that spiral him further and further into despair as time morphs into a bleak haze, consisting of nothing but sleep and work, which becomes exactly what Kurt said.

An escape. An excuse.

He's afraid of anything that isn't the surety of dancing around a pole, where things are dreadful and loathsome but reliable, and he _can't_ fail, can't disappoint, can't put any part of himself out on the line that won’t be returned with praise.

But he and Kurt can’t avoid each other forever, and eventually, after an extremely uncomfortable dinner on a night that they are both home (well, an uncomfortable dinner for him and Kurt at least; Burt and his Mom seem to be happily oblivious to the tension between them as they carry a lively conversation), they find themselves in an unavoidable situation.

The four of them are sitting in the living room when Blaine offers to do the dishes, merely so he can get some room to breathe. It’s been agony having to watch Kurt sit across the room from him all night, practically ignoring his existence as he stares straight ahead at the tv.

And God, if he isn’t more beautiful than Blaine has ever seen him, pale skin and sharp cheekbones and those pink bowed lips that he hungers for.

As Blaine’s leaving the living room, Burt gestures towards Kurt and says, “Go help him.”

Blaine looks over his shoulder to the couch, where Kurt’s frozen, his eyes wide and his cheeks heating maroon, until he finally huffs out a small sigh and stands to follow Blaine.

The awkward silence does little to deter Blaine’s racing heart as they move into the kitchen and stand side by side at the sink, skin buzzing and hips practically touching until Kurt scoots over and puts an inch of room between them.

Still, his presence is intoxicating, the sweet vanilla smell Blaine knows so distinctly as _Kurt_ , his cologne and his skin care products and just _him_ , mixing and twirling with the scent of the dish soap as Blaine pours it into the water.

He feels like a virginal teenager all over again, blushing and thrumming and eager with desire, his heart slamming against his rib cage as Kurt pulls up his sleeves and dips his hands into the water.

They assume positions wordlessly. 

Blaine grabs the towel and waits for Kurt to finish soaping up and rinsing off the first plate. When he’s done he hands it over to Blaine, touching his fingers briefly with soft fingertips that send a shocking spark all the way up Blaine’s arm, through the red-laced wires that have replaced his veins and weaved their way straight to his pulsing heart.

It thrills him when he hears the slight hitch in Kurt’s breathing.

He dares to steal a look at Kurt’s face while he dries the plate, pulse fluttering and hands twitching with the need to touch him instead, and some part of him is expecting Kurt to be doing the same, glancing over at Blaine with electric crystal blue eyes.

Except he _isn’t_.

In fact, Kurt suddenly looks more angry than Blaine has seen him the entire night, his jaw locked and his cheeks hollowed, sucked in against his teeth as he scrubs at a plate a little more aggressively than Blaine thinks is required to clean it.

Blaine’s chest aches. He _misses_ him, misses misses misses until it turns into a physical barrier between them, as present as both their own bodies.

The silence turns from awkward to painful as Blaine dries four more plates, glancing occasionally at Kurt.

Finally, Kurt speaks.

“You look miserable.”

“A ringing endorsement,” Blaine teases back, but Kurt doesn’t smile.

“I’m just telling you the truth, Blaine.” Kurt’s voice is clipped, and Blaine sighs as he starts drying a bowl.

“Yeah, well,” Blaine says quietly, honestly, because Kurt deserves the truth. “I am miserable.”

Kurt actually _scoffs_ at him. “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Blaine.”

“Kurt-”

“You love me.”

It’s soft, and not a question, and it punches all the air out of Blaine’s body. Kurt is finally looking at him for the first time in days, blue eyes intent and vulnerable and searching, always searching.

Blaine doesn’t understand _how_ but he can’t deny or ignore how violently his body, his heart, is pulled toward Kurt, how desperately he wants him, more than physically, like Kurt was created from the fragments of Blaine’s soul that are confused and lost, like his irises are colored with the burning of what Blaine can’t find the words to speak but feels so vividly.

Blaine’s heart hasn’t belonged to himself since the night they drove home from the lake, Kurt nestled in his passenger seat, cheeks glowing delicately pink and eyelashes fanned long over his pale skin as he slept.

Every part of his bleeding heart belongs to Kurt but there’s a block, an IV drip of phantom emotions stalled and disconnected between his head and his heart, and he wants to place his trust in  
Kurt, in them, in the undeniable force that wrenches between them, but he _can’t_ because he’ll just ruin it, he’s already ruined everything--

“Kurt, come on. Please.”

“I _know_ you love me, Blaine.” Kurt’s voice runs thin, desperate, like he might shatter apart at any moment but he’s still so _sure_ that Blaine loves him.

And Blaine doesn’t want to love him, wants to give Kurt something better than him, something he’s deserving of, doesn’t want to think about him every moment of every day but there’s a part of him  
that just does, and wants, and _is_. 

Too many people have ruptured him apart completely in the past.

He can’t be accountable for holding Kurt's heart in his own hands.

He can’t _ruin_ Kurt. 

“Kurt, just- stop. Stop, okay?” Blaine closes his eyes and swallows heavily. He can’t do this right now. But he doesn’t want Kurt to leave him, doesn’t want this moment between them to end. “Can we  
just talk about something else?”

Kurt’s eyes shine wet with unshed tears as he looks away from Blaine, steeling his gaze on the bowl he’s washing.

He’s silent for so long that Blaine doesn’t think he’s going to speak again, and he resigns himself to actually focusing on the dishes until Kurt whispers softly.

“Mr. Shue said I could have a solo at the next competition.”

“Kurt,” Blaine stops, stares at him in awe and feels an overwhelming sense of pride explode warm and fondly in his chest. He yearns to pick him up and swing him around, to make him understand how incredibly talented and wonderful he is. “That’s-That’s amazing. I’m sure you’ll be fantastic.”

Kurt slams a plate down, nearly cracking it, and shakes his head. “Don’t say something you don’t mean.”

“I…” Blaine runs at a loss for words as he stares at him. “You know I meant that.”

“No, Blaine, I really don’t!” Kurt yells, and then his eyes widen a bit at the volume of his voice and he glances in the direction of the living room fearfully. When he turns back to Blaine, his voice is quieter, but rigidly ice cold. Blaine almost wishes he were screaming instead. “That’s the thing, Blaine. I don’t know how much of what you say is actually true, and how much of it is just meaningless flattery to get me to sleep with you.”

Blaine can’t seem to move. The words are twisted, thorned as they drag and gash against his skin.

“Kurt.”

“That’s your goal, isn’t it? I’m just a warm body. I don’t actually mean anything to you.”

Blaine’s head spins. His stomach churns with the thought of using Kurt like that. Kurt means _everything_ to him.

What they shared meant _everything_ to him.

But Kurt deserves so much more than what Blaine can give him.

“Kurt, it’s never been that way.”

“Can you finish drying these or do you still need my help?” Kurt switches the subject abruptly, holding Blaine’s gaze as Blaine’s brain fumbles to keep up.

“Uh, I can finish.”

“Then I’m going to bed,” Kurt announces, flinging water off his hands. “Goodnight.”

And then he spins on his heel and storms out, and Blaine’s left to stare at the air where he stood just a moment ago, his fingers wrenched tight around the plate in his hand and a gaping hole heaving in the center of his chest.

……….. 

The days become unbearable.

He handled all of this before for years, by himself, closed off and sheltered and capable. He had it under his calculated control. 

He was withering away, sure, but he's always been broken. Since he was fifteen years old.

Kurt had collected his broken pieces, entered his life and knocked him off his feet as he began to stitch him back together carefully and delicately into a person Blaine was beginning to be proud of.

Courageous and loving and passionate, for Kurt, because of Kurt.

Suddenly it feels as if he's been slashed apart at every connecting seam in his body, except this time, he isn't capable of handling it on his own. Not after weeks of having Kurt.

He tries to talk to Leo one night after his shift but the bar is swamped, and Blaine can barely get two words in before Marcus finds him, wraps his meaty fingers around his wrists and clasps him so  
tightly Blaine feels his skin swell with purpled bruises.

"You're a piece of shit, Blaine."

_I only care that you understand you're better than how you're treated there._

Blaine hears Kurt's words echoing in his head, tender and sweet against the reeking stench of alcohol and sweat and vulgarity billowing around him. 

A week ago he would've fought back, would’ve found strength in Kurt’s words, was beginning to believe them.

Now he just accepts Marcus's words, lets it brand into him numbly like a fitting label that burns into his skin.

It’s a never ending chamber of grief and despair, the only glimmer of hope, the only good thing in his life, the only lifeline to rescue him cut off by his own choice. 

Because subjecting himself further to the darkness is better than running the risk of pulling Kurt into it with him.

But he needs somebody. Needs somewhere to turn, someone to talk to, someone to confide in, even if it ends up being the last person he expects it to be.

Snow is just beginning to cascade down around him in light crystals when Blaine walks into _Hummel Tires & Lube_ early in the afternoon on a day he doesn't have to work. He wraps his coat tightly around himself and bounces on his toes a little, standing awkwardly by the door before a tall blonde boy dressed in blue coveralls (Blaine guesses he's probably around Kurt's age) notices him. He looks strangely familiar, in a vague way that Blaine can’t place.

Slinging a grimey towel around his shoulder, the boy stands and approaches Blaine slowly.

"Can I help you?"

"Uh, yes, I'm looking for Burt Hummel?"

The boy narrows his eyes at him for a moment before flicking his bangs out of his eyes. "He's in the back. I can give him a message, or do you need to see him?"

"I, uh," Blaine fumbles for a moment, unsure of himself. He doesn't want to disturb Burt if he's busy. He's also not entirely sure how Burt will respond to him showing up unannounced at his work. "Just tell him that Blaine is here. If he's busy I'll just go, and... I guess I'll just wait right here if he's not."

The boy gives a small nod before disappearing through a door on the far wall. He reappears a minute later with a clipboard in his hand.

“Head on back.”

Blaine thanks him, squints to look at the name on his coveralls, and then it finally hits him. “Oh my God, you’re in Kurt’s glee club.”

Sam’s lips widen, bright and goofy as he points a finger at Blaine in recognition. “That’s where I know you from! You’re Kurt’s boyfriend-slash-brother that he brought to Puck’s party! The one who got totally wasted?”

Blaine winces at that. “The very one.”

“Nah, don’t worry man. It was hilarious,” Sam says around a chuckle.

Blaine wishes he could look back on that night with the same humorous recollection Sam seems to be able to. He gives him a polite smile before moving around him, heading to the back door until he’s suddenly stopped.

“Hey, Blaine?”

Blaine looks over his shoulder, fingers paused on the handle of the door. “Yeah?”

“Be good to Kurt, okay?” Sam looks down, somewhat bashfully with a twinge of a blush that sparks a flash of red-hot jealousy, ferocious and wild through Blaine’s chest. “He’s like a brother to me, to all of us, and we love him a lot. He’s been through some rough stuff the last few years.”

Blaine swallows dryly around the lump clogging his throat. He has no idea how to respond to that. He wants to scream, yell at Sam that he loves him too, that he’s seen the slushies and the bruises and held Kurt through his pain, and _how dare he_ think Blaine would ever treat Kurt anything less than perfect.

But he can’t.

Because he _has_ hurt Kurt. Deeply.

“I’m not his brother,” Blaine breathes steadily through his nose. “Or his boyfriend.”

And then he pushes open the door and enters the garage in search of Burt.

Burt’s crouched on the floor near a car, focused intently until he hears the sound of Blaine’s approaching footsteps and looks up with a smile. “Hey, kid. I’d give you a hug but I’m all greased up.”

Blaine laughs quietly. “That’s alright, Burt.”

A few seconds of awkward silence pass as Burt shifts his attention back to the car and Blaine watches him.

“So, you gonna tell me why you’re here?” Burt asks, and Blaine’s voice falters in his throat. He’s not sure where to start.

“Um, well… I just wanted to see what the shop was like,” Blaine lies, though it’s not entirely untruthful. He’s been curious to check out the garage for a while.

Burt looks up at him with a crooked eyebrow, one that indicates he sees right through Blaine’s words, but he says nothing and, much to Blaine’s relief, indulges him for a moment. “Well in that case, pass me that lug nut.”

Blaine looks toward the rolling tray of car parts situated just beside him and locates the small, circular piece of metal, picking it up and passing it to Burt, who looks pleasantly surprised.

“Wrench.”

Burt fastens the lug nut into place before taking the wrench Blaine holds in his hands and grins, screwing the bolt. “Impressive.”

“Well, I’d like to think I know what a wrench looks like at age twenty-three.” Blaine finds himself grinning. 

Burt laughs at that and glances at Blaine. “You know a lot about cars?”

“Not a ton, but uh, Carl… my Dad,” Blaine stares at his hands as he speaks. The painful irony isn’t lost on him of the whole situation, the positions they stand in mirroring his memories almost exactly, except it’s not his Dad, will never be his Dad again, and Blaine wonders what his fifteen year old self would think of it all if he saw himself now. “He let me help him refurbish a car one summer. That old F150 I drive.”

Burt hums. “S’cool car.”

“Yeah,” Blaine agrees quietly and then the silence returns.

It’s a comfortable silence as Blaine watches Burt work on the car, and Burt doesn’t seem to mind, seems to sense that Blaine just needs somewhere to be and someone to sit with.

Blaine can’t help but notice all of Burt’s features that are nearly identical to Kurt as he observes him, the determined crease between his eyebrows and the way he sticks his tongue out just slightly to the side, biting it with his teeth as he concentrates. When he’s finished he stands back and surveys his work with the same satisfied pose Kurt always does, hands resting on his hips and lips curled in a small, content smile, proud of himself for succeeding even if it’s something he’s done a million times before.

Blaine’s so lost in thought he almost doesn’t register the sound of his own voice speaking until he’s already asked a question.

“Did you always want to do this? You know, when you were younger?”

Burt glances at him, rubbing his wrench with a cloth. “Be a mechanic? Not necessarily. Always liked cars, but… I had other ideas along with it. You know, pro football player making millions of dollars and crap.”

Blaine huffs out a laugh.

“Supporting my family though,” Burt sighs, gaze cast far off. “That became my top priority. In whatever form I could. I saw an opportunity and I took it, because I needed it and my wife needed it and most importantly, our son needed it. I was just lucky enough to get stuck doing something that I do enjoy and have come to truly love.”

Blaine listens, thinks about the sacrifices he’s made for his mother and how he’s stretched them to become a shield for his own failure.

“Can I ask you for some advice?”

Burt doesn’t speak, just nods, and Blaine knows he was suspecting this all along.

“I, uh… I’ve been hurt,” Blaine fumbles, trying to find a place to start. Everything about it all is so delicate, so complex that he wants to just tear it all up into shreds and throw it away. “By some people that I loved, and that I thought loved me… in the past. And I let that kind of… contaminate the things I loved to do? The things I was passionate about.”

Burt watches him carefully, waits for Blaine to formulate his thoughts.

“And it’s driven me into a situation that I’m not proud of, turned me into this person that can’t stop hurting all the people I love now.” Blaine swallows. “I don’t know how to give myself a second chance? I don’t know how to let go of these terrible things that I turned to back then, that I _needed_ to protect myself from everyone who hurt me… things that are now destroying my life.”

The silence between them is thick and uncomfortable, and for a moment Blaine thinks he won’t be able to survive under Burt’s contemplative gaze.

“I’m sorry,” he rambles self consciously. “That probably didn’t make any sense.”

“Blaine, I’m going to talk to you like I’d talk to Kurt, which is honest and blunt and straightforward, because I think you’re a good man and I care about you.” He looks straight at Blaine, and Blaine hears what goes unsaid, that he’s going to speak to him like a father, because that’s what Blaine needs more than anything.

Burt leans back against the wall. “Look, I don’t know much about you. But I ain’t stupid, kid. I know you’re a dancer.”

The wave of humiliation that washes over him, the sharp stab of betrayal twinging in his heart, and the racing fear all come hand in hand. How does Burt know? His Mom promised, she _swore_ she wouldn’t tell anyone, gave Blaine her word.

Unless-- Unless… Would _Kurt_ really sell him out?

The panic on his face must give him away, because Burt gives a heavy sigh before saying, “Nobody had to tell me. It wasn’t that hard to put two and two together.”

Blaine stares at his shoe, tries not to break apart under the shame that weighs down upon him.

“So, you made some unfortunate decisions. Ended up in a place you don’t want to be. But the first thing you have to do is stop blaming yourself.”

Blaine looks up at that, stares right at Burt and the fostering gaze of his blue eyes, a shade darker and more knowledgeable than Kurt’s, and feels the way Burt is somehow speaking straight through his defenses.

“You’re twenty- three. You’ve got a hell of a lot of time left to live and most of that will be spent making more stupid mistakes. You can’t beat yourself to death over something you did in your early twenties.”

“I just…” Blaine’s head spins. He knows this, he _knows it_ , but he doesn’t know how to put the words into action. “I don’t know how to do that.”

“Stop playing the victim,” Burt answers, simply and bluntly, and it stings, truthful and imperfect in the way Blaine is so skilled at neglecting. “You’ve been hurt by people you loved and that takes time to heal. But the way you live your life in response isn’t up to anyone but yourself.”

There’s tears filling up and threatening to spill over the corners of Blaine’s eyelids, so he wipes them away quickly.

“Life is nothing but years of being wronged by people, over and over again,” Burt says firmly, taking a step closer. “But it’s also years and years of being loved in the most magnificent ways possible. The minute you stop closing yourself off from second chances is the minute you’ll start being able to love those people back.”

It’s almost too overwhelming to process, the way his mind is immediately drawn to Kurt’s vivacious smile and beautiful laugh, the way Blaine wants him so badly his chest hurts with the longing.

“That chance though, Blaine, that doesn’t come from anyone but yourself. You can’t change for others if you aren’t willing to change for yourself first.”

He realizes precisely in that instant that he’s gotten it spectacularly wrong this whole time.

After the pain and heartbreak of Michael’s abuse and cheating, he’s found a second chance in Kurt, to love and to be loved. But it isn’t Kurt who is giving him that second chance.

That second chance, that belief, has to come from himself first before it can come from anyone else.

The only way he’ll ruin Kurt is if he sits around and waits for Kurt to save him without making any effort to save himself. Which is exactly what he’s been doing.

And Kurt has saved him, bringing light and beauty and strength back into his life. His rescue, Blaine realizes now, is the catalyst to Blaine picking his own broken pieces off the floor and building them  
back into something he genuinely wants to be.

But it has to come from him. It has to be _for him_.

“Do you…” Blaine wipes a tear away with the back of his hand, voice rough and scratched. “Do you think less of me? Because of my job?”

Burt stares at him long and hard. “You’re an adult, Blaine. It's not my place to say what I think of it. But as it is, no. Absolutely not. Whatever your reasons were, I’m sure they were valid.”

Blaine doesn’t expect the words to hit him in the way they do, tender almost to a keen point of pain and accessing that specific spot in his heart that was ripped out of his chest at fifteen years old and  
left gaping wide open. It strikes at him specifically there, pulling vertical and tight through his chest till his throat chokes with tears and his hands shake.

It’s acceptance for his mistakes and his faults and everywhere he falls short, and he never realized how much he just needed to hear that everything that happened to him and everything that’s  
happened since is simply _okay_.

He’s so used to people being disappointed in him that he isn’t sure how to handle the grace, feels like he’s drowning in the compassion of it and the way Burt’s told him he can do better without  
implying that he’s let him down.

Burt walks toward him, claps a heavy, weighted palm down on his shoulder, and that’s all that it takes for Blaine to collapse against his chest in a fit of gasping sobs that come from one of his most  
fragile heart strings, the one that’s been tethered and severed and hanging broken in his chest for what feels like a lifetime.

Burt wraps him in firm, strong arms, a cocoon that warms Blaine in a very specific way he’s forgotten he could feel. But now that he feels it, it’s too much and not enough at exactly the same time,  
flooding him with years of yearning, starved touch, and barely beginning to mend over the gaping wound in a small, delicate trickle.

“You’re a good person, Blaine. You deserve to be reminded of that,” Burt says above his head, and Blaine nods, can’t do anything but agree because maybe, just maybe, he finally understands that he has the ability to learn the truth of that statement.

……..

He leaves the garage shortly after, emotionally drained and eyelids puffy with exertion. He barely has time to stop at home to grab some things before he heads to work, and when he does, he runs into Kurt in the kitchen.

Kurt’s sitting at the table, his lithe, slender form sitting gracefully with his legs crossed and his torso bent over a magazine. He looks up when he sees Blaine come in.

Blaine avoids his eyes, heads for the cabinets to grab his water bottle. He knows he looks like a disaster and Kurt won’t fail to miss it.

But when Kurt speaks, the softness of his voice surprises Blaine. “Are you alright?”

Blaine doesn't answer, feeling like he’ll shatter apart with once glance at Kurt’s crystal eyes. He fills up his water bottle, ice then water, then musters a watery smile in Kurt’s direction as he screws on  
the lid.

“I thought you were mad at me,” he teases carefully, and Kurt stands, so tall and beautiful that Blaine’s already scarce breath catches in his chest.

“I am,” he replies, tilting his head, lean nose and cheekbones catching the light. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t tell that you’ve been crying.”

“I’m alright,” Blaine answers, and he can tell Kurt doesn’t believe him. He’s grateful for this soft, gentle moment between them, grateful for the way Kurt’s eyes seem to shine with concern he’s trying  
to hide but failing miserably to.

He wants to fall into Kurt’s arms and confess everything to him, but the mess between them is still too delicate and hurting, feelings still a little too sensitive on both of their sides, and he needs time to sort things out within himself.

Somehow, Kurt seems to understand that. He gives Blaine a sympathetic smile, one that’s timid and still a little pained from Blaine’s rejection, barely there, but enough, enough for Blaine to see it and  
know.

Blaine’s lips curl softly in response, and then he’s leaving, walking out of the kitchen and heading toward his truck.

…….

Blaine parks in the corner of the small lot, shivering in the frosty air as he walks across the slick pavement and opens the back door of the club.

His mind is racing, emotions heavy and distracting in his chest as he thinks about his conversation with Burt and the way Kurt’s scent is still burning in his nostrils from when he brushed past him on  
his way out of the kitchen.

He doesn’t register the hazy smoke of the club, doesn’t acknowledge Joe’s catcall as he changes mindlessly into his thong. He laces up his boots, numbly applies his makeup, and thinks.

Thinks and thinks and thinks about everything and nothing all at once. New beginnings and dead ends, hope and despair, blossoming love and jagged, angry memories swimming violently in his head.

Dancing, for once, is almost a bit of a relief. A break from the torment of endless emotions. He lets the beat of the music infect him, rewire his muscles and move his body in a way that he detaches from, every thought and fear and hope manifested in the roll of his hips, the shake of his ass, the bend of his back, instead of living in his conscious mind.

He’s so lost in the routine that he almost trips off the stage when he sees him.

He thinks for a moment that it’s quite possible he’s hallucinating. Except his eyes are so bright and clear and beautiful compared to every other bleak, crass thing crowding the room that their shine is  
almost like a physical slap. It wakes Blaine right out of his daze, and he knows there’s no way he could ever imagine the beauty of those eyes to their fullest extent.

Kurt’s in the crowd, tucked in the back and staring directly at Blaine, body almost hidden but gaze so strong on Blaine that it nearly knocks him off his feet.

He falters for a minute but eventually finds the groove of the music again, slithering to the rhythm but finding it nearly impossible to take his eyes off of Kurt. He tries to ask him what the _hell_ he’s  
doing here with his own face, with his eyes, but Kurt keeps his face neutral, every muscle carefully controlled.

And that’s when Blaine really begins to _dance_.

Finally fueled by something worth moving for, he keeps his gaze on Kurt, on the beautiful boy he wants so badly, on the desire he can feel pulling between them like a wavelength that passes through the universe only to be felt by the two of them. It moves through the room, commanding and intrusive, and this time, Blaine doesn’t hide from it.

He levels his gaze, locks onto Kurt’s burning blue eyes and writhes, slithers down to the floor of the stage and rolls his body in slow, sensual waves, casting every vulnerable part of himself out on  
display in front of a whole room of lustful men, but for Kurt’s eyes only.

He can see the blush coloring high on Kurt’s cheeks, lets it flush into his own heart and heat down his own skin as he drags his fingertips down his body, imagines in his head that Kurt’s pressed up tight against him, that he’s running his hands over that silky smooth skin and guiding him to the beat.

It’s erotic, and it’s personal, even with an entire room of drunken people between them. Blaine lets his body sing, dance, and scream every desire of his heart, every longing for Kurt, every twist of his  
pelvis and flex of his thighs displayed like he’s being painted on an open canvas.

When the music is done, Blaine is sweating, his curls dripping and his nipples tightened against the air, and his eyes never leave Kurt’s, never look at anything other than the chiseled sculpting of his  
jaw and the lovely pink blush spilt across his skin.

He eventually tears his gaze away to head backstage, desire thrumming through him as he changes into his jeans and a loose t-shirt, Kurt’s presence calling to him like a siren.

He doesn’t know why Kurt’s here. He has to be sensible about this, has to work past the heated _want_ coursing through him and remember the reality, the way things are bent uncomfortably between them. He can’t let the proximity of Kurt’s body override the damage he knows he needs to fix.

He waits a while before heading out into the main floor of the club. It’s the prime hour of the night and every inch of the stuffy place is filled, bodies pressed together and moving against one another in every direction.

He looks around for a while with no success, and then finally decides to head to the bar.

And then he sees him.

Blaine’s body immediately goes rigid.

The man sitting next to Kurt at the bar is tall and lanky, a narrowed face with light brown hair and pointed green eyes.

It takes Blaine less than a second to remember him.

It’s the man that grabbed him in his private show.

The same man who is currently running his hand smoothly up Kurt’s thigh. Kurt pushes his creeping fingers away with a flustered and frantic look, and everything inside Blaine’s body boils dangerously  
hot. He seems to be paralyzed, frozen and motionless watching the way Kurt keeps inching back from him, looking close to frightened tears, and when Kurt looks over his shoulder, probably in an effort to find an escape, Blaine watches the man slip something into Kurt’s drink.

Suddenly Blaine’s body snaps from its suspension, kicks into a ferocious overdrive, and he shoves a random body out of the way, storming over to Kurt with adrenaline pumping like fire in his veins.

“What the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing?” he spits, low and dark, and for one terrified moment, Kurt's wide eyes look as if he thinks Blaine is talking to him, but Blaine keeps his gaze locked on the leering man, and Kurt eases back, eyes flicking between them in shock.

The man lets out a snide bark of a laugh, green eyes sparkling. He looks back at Kurt with an eyebrow raised. “ _This_ is the boy you’re waiting for? This pathetic prude ass stripper?”

Blaine’s vision goes red. “Step the _fuck_ away from him. Right now.”

But the man keeps looking at Kurt, a smirk bowed on his lips. “What’s a pretty virgin like you doing wasting his untouched parts on a worthless scamp like him, huh baby? I can give you a much better  
time.”

Blaine hardly feels his body move, he’s got that much adrenaline coursing through him.

“How fucking _dare_ you speak to him like that!” he screams, lunging at the man, grasping onto his jacket, and what the man holds over Blaine in height, Blaine makes up for in strength, muscled arms bulging as he spins the man around and pins his torso down, slamming him into the counter top.

“Leave,” he commands, hot and forceful directly in the man's ear. He wiggles in his grasp, but the lock of Blaine’s hands is stronger than iron. “Leave right now or I will have your ass thrown out of  
here and right into jail. Do you understand me?”

The man whimpers as Blaine tightens his arms further up his back. “Let me go, you son of a bitch!”

“I said, do you understand me?” Blaine thunders, knuckles tightening and rage engulfing and the only command every cell in his body is receiving is the one that orders to protect Kurt.

“Blaine!” Leo barks, and Blaine looks up, suddenly aware of the numerous sets of eyes pinned on him. He hadn’t even processed Leo was over here until now. “Let him go, kid.”

Blaine releases the man with a forceful shove, and thankfully, he backs away from Blaine immediately, massaging his wrists and glaring foully.

“Get out of here,” Blaine breathes, chest heaving. “Get out of here and don’t ever fucking touch him again.”

The man rolls his eyes, mutters something crude and low under his breath that makes Kurt wince, and once he’s turned and walking away, Blaine finally looks at Kurt since the whole ordeal started,  
energy depleting in rapid, seething waves.

Kurt’s blue eyes are wide, face flushed and body so brittle he looks like he might break if Blaine touches him.

“Are you okay?” Blaine asks, concern replacing the flow of his blood so quickly it's faintly dizzying. “Did he hurt you?”

Kurt stares at him in shock, and Blaine steps closer, finding himself frantic in his search to make sure he’s okay. Kurt blinks rapidly as his face flutters back to life and suddenly he’s swinging off his bar  
stool, eyes filling and hands trembling as he tumbles away, pushing through the crowd toward the exit.

Blaine immediately chases after him. “Kurt. Kurt! Wait, please.”

He doesn’t catch up to him until he’s outside, the icy night air biting at him. Kurt spins around, cheeks flushed red and tears streaming down his face, tinted ochre in the flickering street lamp, puffs of breath billowing white into the night sky.

“Kurt-”

“What the _hell_ was that Blaine, huh?” Kurt splutters between gasps. Blaine stares at him in shock, not quite understanding how Kurt is upset with him.

“What?”

“Who the hell do you think you are? Slamming him into the counter top, threatening any guy who goes near me, as if you have _any_ right to decide who gets to talk to me--”

“Kurt,” Blaine interrupts incredulously, breathless. “Do you not understand how much better you are than a disgusting creep like that? He was trying to take advantage of you.”

“Who is good enough for you, Blaine?” Kurt yells, throwing his hands up into the air. “Because you made it very clear that you don’t want me! So why do you get to decide who is and isn’t right for me?  
Who’s deserving of me? God, you are so pretentious sometimes!”

Blaine stares at Kurt, so beautifully distraught and angry, and it strikes a nerve of hurt, deep down where he’s broken and bruised and aching for this boy.

“I know that guy, Kurt, okay?” he responds, voice rising. “It’s the guy who groped me in my private show, the one I told you about. I saw him slip something into your drink and I was trying to protect you!”

Kurt’s eyes widen, but he doesn't back down. “I do not _need_ you to protect me, Blaine.”

“You are so incredibly naive, Kurt, God!” Blaine yells, frustration thick and pulsing.

“Well, so what?” Kurt counters, eyes shining. “Maybe I am naive to trust people. To have trusted you. But why do you care so much? Why does any of what I do matter to you? You said--”

“Because _I love you, Kurt, Goddammit!_ ”

Kurt’s mouth shuts closed in an instant. The air between them is thick and electric. Blaine’s chest heaves, the words hanging in the air a ball of fire exhaled from beneath his lungs.

“You… you love me?” Kurt stutters, quiet, disbelieving.

“I have loved you since the moment you told me to screw off in your bedroom,” Blaine speaks, voice honest and threadbare, and the tears that have been collecting just below the surface of his skin all  
night finally spill over, hot and fast down his cheeks. “No, fuck that. I have loved you since the very first moment I saw you in that crowd.”

He runs a hand through his curls, holding Kurt’s bewildered gaze and ripping his chest open raw. “And that… that should be _insane_ , shouldn’t it? Should feel absolutely terrifying because I’ve only  
known you for what, barely over a month?” he shakes his head. “But it doesn’t. Nothing about the way I feel for you is terrifying other than how terribly and completely I am in love with every single part of you, Kurt.”

Kurt’s pink lips tremble. “B-but you said… you said you couldn’t love me back.”

“Because I was scared, Kurt,” Blaine laughs wetly, overwhelmed and overloaded and openly exposed down to every last nerve. “Scared o-of, of how much I _despise_ myself, and how that would affect you. Scared of ruining you with the mess that I am. Scared of being hurt again, and hurting you, which is what I ended up doing anyway.”

Kurt cocks his head. “You’re not going to ruin me.”

“I know,” Blaine gulps. “I know that now. You’re just… you’re so young, and so beautiful, and I’m just…” he gestures down to himself weakly. “I’m just me, you know? I’m damaged and I’m messed up and I was trying to change for you because I thought that was my second chance. But I realize now that that isn’t true. I have to change for me first… and learning how to become better for myself, and loving you through it… that’s my second chance.”

Before he can process what’s happening, Kurt is stumbling toward him, twisting his fists in Blaine’s shirt and slotting their lips together, searing and sweet, deep and slow and twining, and he can taste  
the mix of their salty tears.

All of his nerve endings fire, whip lashing up his spine, and his hand curls around the back of Kurt’s neck, tips their heads and deepens the press of their mouths until he slips his tongue into Kurt’s  
mouth, hot and searching and so desperate to taste the sweetness of this boy that he loves.

Kurt whimpers into their mouths, bites on Blaine’s plush bottom lip and pulls back, breath ghosting over Blaine’s lips. “Let me be young. Let me be foolish and make stupid mistakes. But don’t hide  
from me. Let me _love_ you like I so desperately need to.”

Suddenly the distance between them is too much, and Blaine’s ravenous for him. He kisses Kurt’s lips, soft and sweet and sucking, then presses his lips in a flutter of kisses all around his face, the  
corner of his mouth, his cheeks, the bridge of his nose, the smooth skin of his forehead.

“I love you,” he repeats, punctuating between each kiss, because now that he’s said it once, it’s honey in his mouth flowing freely and he never wants to stop telling Kurt, never wants to stop until he  
verbalizes it to the extent at which he feels it, which is far too deep to ever be possible.

“I love you.” A kiss to Kurt’s ice cold, suckling lips. “I love you.” A kiss to Kurt’s precious temple, and Blaine can feel the flutter of Kurt’s eyelashes against his cheek. “I love you.” A kiss into the soft  
curve of Kurt’s ear, down his sensitive neck, where he’s wanton and putty and trembling in Blaine’s arms.

“I love you, too, Blaine Anderson,” Kurt sniffles, smiling beautifully, and all the sight of it does is make Blaine kiss his lips harder, deeper. “I love you even when you’re a complete idiot.” he breathes  
the words over Blaine’s lips.

Blaine pulls back, gushing and overflowing with abundant happiness. “Why were you here tonight?”

Kurt looks down, slides his arms around Blaine’s neck and holds onto him tightly. “I came to apologize. For what I said, in the car, judging your job and your choices and just-- God, Blaine I was such an ass, I’m so so sorry.”

Two tears leak fast down Kurt’s cheeks, and Blaine wipes them away with his thumbs, caressing Kurt’s face in his hands. “Baby, don’t cry, okay? We’ll talk. I promise we’ll talk through all of it.”

Kurt nods, and Blaine tilts his chin up, cups his jaw and kisses his lips slowly, feeling utterly intoxicated. “I love you, okay? What I need you to do for me right now is get in your car and drive home safely. I have one more performance I have to do and then I’ll come home to you.”

Kurt nods again, leans his lips up for another kiss that Blaine could never deny him, lips warm and soft.

“ _Je t’aime_ ,” he whispers, and Blaine smiles, laughs brightly and pulls him close, tucking Kurt’s face into his neck and nuzzling into his vanilla scented hair.

“ _Ti amo_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all you lovely readers! I bet none of you thought I was ever coming back!
> 
> Yeah, lol, me neither for a while there.
> 
> But life moves on and difficult times are endured, and alas, the story of Kurt and Blaine continues.
> 
> Tell me what you thought. I love to hear :) And as always, thank you for reading <3


	11. Right as Rain and Soft as Snow.

It’s just after one in the morning when Kurt arrives home.

He opens the front door carefully, tip toes down to his room quietly, and discards his coat. He’s too exhausted to do much of his night time routine, so he changes into his silk pajamas and moisturizes briefly before climbing under the covers of his bed.

He stares up at the ceiling and hears the words ringing through his head, dancing and twirling around the quiet stillness of his bedroom, his mind replaying the way Blaine’s honey irises had burned, heart in his eyes when he spoke them.

 _I love you_.

And Kurt can’t help the way his heart seems to race out of his chest, the way his toes curl and he smiles helplessly even though there’s nobody around to see.

Deep down, Kurt realizes he’s always known, was certain before Blaine burned him with his words that night in the car. The days since then had been disorienting, tearing at his heart with the intensity of how much he loves Blaine and how the way he had discarded Kurt just hadn’t fit, had been so abrupt and barbed that it felt like shards of glass stuck through his heart.

But then, when Kurt saw Blaine in the kitchen, sniffling and shaky with red eyes and beautifully damp black lashes that made Kurt’s heart ache, he realized for the first time that in the midst of his heart break, he hadn't stopped to really consider Blaine’s feelings.

Kurt knows he’s prideful, and slow to accept his faults, has built himself to be that way to protect himself from the bullies and the people who relentlessly rip him apart till he feels small and insignificant.

And upon reflection, he realized he had as much fault to own up to that night as Blaine.

The way Kurt had sprung his judgement upon Blaine, immediately after Blaine had shared something so special with him, was cruel and inappropriate, though he hadn’t intended for it to be that way in the moment, didn’t feel anything wrong while it was happening, and never imagined Blaine’s response escalating that far.

He was stupid. And too heartbroken after to recognize it.

So, even if Blaine could never love him back, even if Blaine truly didn’t want him the way Kurt so desperately wanted-- _needed_ him to, Kurt knew he at least owed him an apology. He was hurt, he was upset, but he needed some small way to make the pain better, to let Blaine know that he was sorry, regardless of how things between them turned out.

After all, he _loves_ Blaine. And that still accounted for something, even if he wasn’t certain Blaine loved him back.

Except… even with Blaine’s words, some part of Kurt still knew he did, has always known, has always felt the overwhelming warmth in the way Blaine looks at him and the tenderness behind his touch, the way Kurt feels visible and _valuable_ underneath his gaze.

It’s felt too good to be true, sometimes impossible to be real, but always, always, so irreversibly right.

So Kurt told his Dad he was hanging out at Mercedes’s house for the night, hopped in his car, and drove to Columbus with that stupid fake I.D. in his pocket and his heart in his throat to fight for what they had and to apologize to the boy he loves, driving on hope and a prayer that what Blaine said truly was nothing more than a response, a defense, to Kurt’s stupidity.

He thinks about all these things and the way Blaine’s kiss had felt like fire, had felt like re entering his body and coming back to his center. Thinks about the feral way Blaine had pinned that man down on top of the bar.

And how all his rage had melted away when he looked at Kurt again, eyes wide and full of genuine concern, so overwhelming and passionate and protective and all directed right at him, and Kurt’s head swam, his heart frail and his emotions barely contained within himself.

At some point while he’s thinking about everything, Kurt’s racing mind stills and he falls asleep. He wakes up sometime later, room imperceptibly lighter but still mostly dark, and there’s a warm presence beside him, a graze of soft fingers tickling up his back.

He rolls over groggily. “Blaine?”

Blaine’s there, propped up on his elbow beside Kurt and stroking his arm gently. Kurt can barely see him, but he can feel his warmth, the touch of his soft skin and the wonderful smell of his body, lavender and cologne and sweat and boy, and Kurt scrambles up quickly, straight into his lap, draping himself around him.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers urgently, tucking his face into Blaine’s shoulder and hugging his arms tight around his neck. Blaine wraps an arm around his back and holds him securely as he shifts upright to sit against the headboard. “I’m so sorry, Blaine.”

“Hey, hey, shh,” Blaine murmurs, rubbing his back and kissing his cheek. Kurt's entire body seems to shift back into alignment, wrapped in Blaine’s embrace and snuggled against his body. “It’s okay. It’s all okay. God, I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too,” Kurt breathes, shivering when Blaine’s wandering fingers card through his sleep mussed hair. “I never want to be without you again.”

“You won’t have to be. I’m not going anywhere,” Blaine answers, and Kurt pulls back, desperate to see his beautiful eyes. Blaine’s curls are falling across his forehead, amber eyes lovely and face soft. He’s dressed in a cozy, soft sweatshirt and sweatpants that are warm and comforting under Kurt’s body. Kurt leans down and kisses him slowly, the spark of Blaine’s lips against his every bit as thrilling as it was the very first time, in the cramped bathroom with ice cold slushie dripping down his back.

“I was so stupid,” Kurt breathes between their damp lips, holding Blaine’s firm jaw with his fingers, taking feel of him and committing it to his memory. Blaine holds him tightly and flips them over, sets Kurt on his back against the mattress and settles above him, knocking all of the air out of Kurt’s lungs in one swift motion.

“We both were,” he responds, kissing a slow, sucking path down Kurt’s sensitive neck that makes his back arch. He runs his hands up Blaine’s strong arms, hard and firm under the soft fabric, curling around his shoulders and scraping down his back as he spreads his thighs, lets Blaine lay between them and lower the weight of his body on top of Kurt’s, warm and heavy and solid. “Oh God, I love you so much, Kurt.”

A tremor shakes through Kurt’s body at the words he’s positive he’ll never tire of hearing, and his heart seems to stop beating entirely when Blaine’s fingertips drag all the way down his own arms, springing goosebumps and making his hair stand on end, from the tops of his shoulders to where he locks them around Kurt’s wrists, lifts Kurt’s arms above his head and pins them against the mattress.

He has no control, and it’s terrifying yet also _invigorating_ , and he surrenders to the touch, gives in to the way Blaine is moving against him and guiding his movements, trusts Blaine’s touch and care with all of his thumping heart.

Blaine pulls off his neck, gazes into Kurt’s eyes and suspends the air between them in a breath that seems to last forever, till Kurt’s trembling beneath Blaine’s body and flicking his eyes rapidly over every inch of Blaine’s face, centimetres from his.

“Kiss me,” he whispers, body defenseless and heart slamming against his ribs. “Kiss me, God I need you. I love you.”

Blaine’s slow in his movements, gazing upon Kurt like he’s a piece of art, knocking their noses together but keeping his lips a hair’s breadth away from Kurt’s, till their just breathing each other’s air, till Kurt’s moaning for it and straining up against the restraint of Blaine’s hands, chasing after Blaine’s lips like he’s drunk on them.

Blaine bites at Kurt’s bottom lip, pulls it into his mouth and sucks on it, seals his lips hot around the slick flesh. Kurt whines, arches again and twines his legs around Blaine’s hips, locks their bodies together and pulls him closer.

It’s the sweetest form of torture, the slow, careful, way Blaine’s teasing him, working him into a frenzy at a speed Kurt is helpless to, lost in Blaine’s body and Blaine’s gaze and the feel of this incredible boy on top of him.

“You’re so gorgeous, Kurt,” Blaine praises, then he kisses him deeply, sucking a kiss to Kurt’s mouth that makes Kurt’s entire body squirm with the need to be closer, even though there’s physically very little space left between them. Blaine slips his tongue into Kurt’s mouth, careens them into full on making out, and Kurt moves his mouth against him, lips open then pulling closed, biting and licking and kissing at him like he’s starved and Blaine is the nourishment he needs to survive.

“Please,” Kurt gasps, not even sure what he’s asking for, but Blaine’s body is a weight he lets himself fall into, an anchor to hold him as he loses himself in the love that flows from his body like a gushing river.

And then Blaine pulls back, lips swollen cherry kissed red and eyes bright. “Wait, is this okay? I know I told you we’d talk, and we will, I promise, but is… are you okay with this--”

“Blaine Anderson,” Kurt giggles quietly, staring up at Blaine with a smile so wide he feels positively goofy. “I swear to God if you don’t kiss me right now I will break up with you. Again.”

Blaine grins, charming and handsome and Kurt’s so in love with him it feels too enormous for his body to hold, like the only way he can process the wondrous ache in his chest is to be touching Blaine, kissing him and melding them together till he isn’t sure where Blaine ends and he begins.

Blaine kisses him, soft and slow, loud exhales between their bodies and the flutter of Kurt’s fingers in his grasp. He can feel his erection starting to swell where Blaine is heavy against him, fattening against his thigh as blood rushes, and he’s pretty certain there’s no way Blaine can’t feel it, too.

Blaine shifts his hips a little, and suddenly Kurt feels him too, hard and throbbing and solid against him, cock aligning with Kurt’s through layers of clothing, the friction and heat so good Kurt’s fully hard in mere seconds, tenting his pajamas.

“Oh, God.”

“Still okay?” Blaine asks, grinding his hips ever so lightly down onto Kurt’s, and Kurt bucks up, eyes rolling back.

“I… I want more,” he blurts out. Blaine kisses his cheek softly, rolls their straining erections together.

“How much more?”

“I-- can I see you?” Kurt’s eyes flutter open as he stares up at Blaine, heart wild in his throat. He wants it so badly he’s shaking. He’s held Blaine, touched him through clothing where he’s hot and aching before, and Blaine’s seen him, but Blaine’s still hidden to him, still that desire that’s been unraveling and now he’s itching with it, wants to see Blaine so badly he can barely breathe.

“Are you sure?” Blaine blinks and Kurt nods. “Then, of course. Of course, sweetheart.”

Blaine isn’t graceful about it, stands up off the bed so fast he nearly trips and Kurt has to stifle his giggles, but he’s also completely shameless. He hooks his fingers in his sweatpants and briefs at the same time and pushes them down together, dropping them to his ankles.

Kurt inhales so quickly he thinks he might pass out.

Blaine’s cock is flushed dark, thick and purpled and standing proud against his stomach, protruding from a patch of trimmed curls. His wrinkled balls hang heavy beneath his cock, and Kurt blinks rapidly, feels his face heat and his mouth water and his stomach turn with how much he hungers for it.

Blaine doesn’t move, just watches silently with searing eyes as Kurt sits up and moves to the edge of the bed, reaching out in the dark for Blaine. When his palm curves around the thick, velvety length, soft skin over iron steel, they both gasp at the same time.

“Oh. Oh wow,” Kurt stutters, dragging his fist slowly up Blaine’s cock and watching the swell of pre come that splutters from the gaping slit, the way his swollen head breaks through the skin when Kurt jerks downward, thick and bulbous.

It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“You… you’re um, really gorgeous,” he breathes in awe. “And b-big.”

“Oh, Kurt,” Blaine moans, head falling back, and before Kurt can think about it, he’s poking his tongue out and licking at the head, lapping soft kitten licks. “‘Oh, _fuck_ , Kurt, honey, you don’t have to… you don’t have to do that if you don’t want.”

“I want,” Kurt breathes, before sucking the head into his mouth.

“ _Oh my God_.” Blaine threads a hand through his hair, pulling a little, and Kurt groans, his own erection now pulsing to the point of pain. Blaine is tangy and a little bitter, different from what Kurt was expecting and _so_ delicious in his mouth, so thick and filling that Kurt whimpers, suckles around the flesh and gazes up beneath his eyelashes at Blaine.

Kurt tries to sink down more, craving the girth and the stretch and the way Blaine slides soft and hot over his tongue, but his throat twitches tight and he coughs, gagging slightly and pulling back.

“Slow down, sweetheart.” Blaine instructs, petting through his hair. Kurt tries again, hollows his cheeks and sucks slowly, only what he can fit in his mouth without getting scared, which isn’t very much but it’s so good, being below Blaine with a cock stuffed in his mouth.

“Lips over your teeth, baby,” Blaine coos. “Relax for me. Oh, yeah, _just like that_.”

What he can’t get with his mouth he jerks with his hand, and he has to clamp a hand down over his own erection to stop himself from coming just from sucking Blaine’s cock. Blaine’s thighs are beginning to tremble and Kurt pulls off, overwhelmed with all the skin in front of him and how badly he wants to taste it all now that it’s right there.

He kisses down the shaft of Blaine’s cock, nosing under to his hanging balls before sucking one into his mouth and rolling it on his tongue. Blaine grips his hair tightly, nearly painful, but it just spurs Kurt on more as he places dancing kisses all around Blaine’s lightly haired thighs.

“God, honey, you look incredible,” Blaine whispers, and Kurt can’t help but moan as he takes Blaine back into his mouth, tracing the bulging veins with his tongue and loving the heavy weight in his mouth.

“Pull off, Kurt,” Blaine groans suddenly, hips stuttering forward, but Kurt just keeps sucking, never wants to stop tasting. Blaine’s teeth are clenched when he adds, “Don’t try and swallow your first time, sweetheart, it’s a lot to take.”

Those words are enough to get him to finally pull back, lips swollen with friction and jaw aching, Blaine’s cock bobbing in front of his face and saliva still connected to his lips. Blaine runs a hand down his cheek, thumb swiping over his lips, before he drops to his knees on the floor between Kurt’s spread legs and kisses him deeply.

“Thank you, baby, you did so well,” Blaine moans softly into his mouth, and Kurt feels like he could melt into liquid under the praise. Suddenly Blaine’s fingers are unbuttoning his pajama shirt and pushing the silky material off his shoulders. Kurt’s nipples tighten against the cool air and Blaine leans back to gaze over his pale chest. “Oh Jesus you are so _beautiful_.”

His kisses are like sparks of electricity shooting up and down Kurt’s body as he kisses down Kurt’s neck, laves at his collarbones and continues down Kurt’s chest, pulling a rosy nipple between his teeth. Kurt finally finds the ability to speak, voice wrecked.

“Oh, _Blaine_.”

“That feel good?”

“Mmhmm,” Kurt whines, holding onto Blaine’s curls as he sucks on the bud of Kurt’s nipple, kissing sideways to lick over the other one and staring up at Kurt beneath his lashes. Kurt registers it all so sharply, every sensation zinging through his hyper aware body, and also everything is so fast and overwhelming he feels like he’s hardly processing any of it at the same time.

When Blaine kisses his stomach, Kurt’s heaving belly twitches under his mouth, muscles trembling and hard cock grazing Blaine’s chin, and then Blaine’s urging his hips up and pulling his pajama pants and briefs down to his thighs.

When Blaine gave him a blowjob before, it was slow, and careful, and Kurt came embarrassingly fast as Blaine gently licked him over and sucked him languidly.

Now, it’s nothing like that.

Blaine sucks his entire length to the back of his throat in one go, burying his face in Kurt’s lap and deepthroating him with skill Kurt didn’t know he possessed.

Up until this point, their moans have been quiet, soft whispers between crashing lips or relatively silent gasps into the night air, but Kurt can’t help the way he cries out loudly as the warm, wet heat of Blaine’s mouth engulfs him from tip to base, hands flying to hold Blaine’s head down.

Blaine raises one hand above him and pushes two thick fingers between Kurt’s lips, fingers that Kurt pulls eagerly into his mouth and sucks around, stifling his cries and giving him something to moan around.

Blaine doesn’t waste any time, bobbing his head like Kurt’s cock is a popsicle, slurping loudly and swallowing around him, the twitching of his throat closing around the head of Kurt’s cock. It’s all Kurt can do to hold off on his orgasm, and it’s a futile attempt really, because Blaine sinks all the way down, past the resistance of his throat (and Kurt is _long_ ), and gives a powerful suck that pulls Kurt’s orgasm out of him from the tips of his toes to the raised hair on his scalp.

Kurt comes, whining long and high around Blaine’s fingers, gushing spurt after spurt into Blaine’s mouth that Blaine sucks down keenly. It feels like he’s giving everything inside of him to Blaine, for both their pleasure alike.

It seems to last forever, and then he’s coming down, panting and boneless and Blaine’s rising between his legs, pushing him back sideways across his bed and climbing over him.

“You are _incredible_.”

Somewhere in Kurt’s brain the thought occurs to him that maybe this should be more scary, and maybe he should be freaking out at how fast everything is moving and how he’s bare down to his thighs and Blaine’s bare everywhere beneath his sweatshirt, but he can’t find it in himself to be afraid, not with the way Blaine’s looking at him like he’s the only thing that matters and Kurt’s body is floating on pure warmth and love and pleasure.

He shifts up on his elbows, kisses Blaine’s lips and whispers, “Come on me. All over me. I want you to.”

And nowhere in Kurt’s mind would he ever think himself capable of verbalizing something like that, but he’s never wanted anything so badly, for Blaine to reach the encompassing swell of orgasm with him, for Blaine to mark him like he _owns_ him.

Before Blaine even has the chance, Kurt’s reaching between them and pulling at his cock, hard and fast as Blaine whimpers against his lips.

“Oh, I’m gonna come, oh Kurt, K-kurt,” he moans quietly, seizing up and coming, painting Kurt’s stomach in stripes of hot come, shooting the pearly ropes between their bodies. There’s something unexpectedly intimate about kissing Blaine through his orgasm, receiving every one of his pants and gasps and feeling the way his lips stall open and freeze in pleasure against Kurt’s mouth.

Kurt kisses him softly as he comes down, until Blaine has regained control over his limbs and he’s dropping on his side, exhausted and spent and pulling Kurt against his heaving chest.

Kurt goes willingly, snuggling against his side before deciding that Blaine must be hot in his sweatshirt. He grabs the hem, wiggles it up Blaine’s body and whispers, “lift” softly. Blaine’s arms go up and Kurt helps him out of the soft fabric, throwing it over the side of the bed to the floor before pulling his own pants all the way off.

It’s only way he lays back down against Blaine’s side, head on his shoulder, that he realizes they’re now both completely naked.

Blaine tips his chin up and kisses him slowly, a gentle press of lips that trades lazily between them and it’s this, this intimacy and rush of affection that Kurt feels that he cherishes, that he’s yearned for for so many lonely nights when he thought nobody would ever love him.

“I’m kind of surprised you’re not freaking out,” Blaine murmurs against his cheek as he plants a delicate kiss there. Kurt smiles, tracing the smooth skin of Blaine’s tanned chest with his fingers and feeling the rapid pulse of Blaine’s heartbeat.

“I am a little,” he responds, kissing back at Blaine’s chin, anywhere he can get his lips on without having to move too much. Blaine’s hand smooths down his sweaty back. “Internally. But it’s-it’s a good kind of freaking out.”

They lay in silence for a moment before Blaine says softly, voice weighted. “You mean more to me than anyone else I know, than anything I have or anything that I do. You are the most important thing in my life. I’m sorry for making you feel like you didn’t matter to me.”

“You didn’t.” Kurt turns his head and kisses the skin just above Blaine’s nipple, thinks carefully about what he’s trying to say. “Okay, I guess I shouldn’t say you didn’t… because it did hurt, badly.” Blaine squeezes his shoulder. “But I always knew. I always knew you loved me. I just didn’t understand why you would say something like that.”

Blaine’s quiet, so Kurt continues. “But I know why you did. And that’s what I’m sorry for.” He props up on his elbow, and Blaine’s hand sweeps through his hair. “I never should have attacked you like that in the car. I don’t want you to think that I judge you, because I don’t. I _admire_ you. I’m proud of you. I hope you understand that.”

Blaine nods. “I do. Thank you.” They kiss again, sweet and soft and warming Kurt’s heart like a furnace. When he pulls back, Blaine’s eyes are holding something unsaid in them and Kurt frowns. “Blaine?”

“I talked to your Dad.” Blaine strokes his fingers across Kurt’s shoulder and Kurt raises an eyebrow but nods encouragingly, eager to hear anything and everything pertaining to Blaine’s heart.

“What about?”

“Just about life,” Blaine answers. “About messing up and starting over. I’m sorry that I’ve been pinning this all on you, acting like it was your responsibility to save me.”

Kurt stares carefully at him. He wants to ask more about Blaine’s conversation with his Dad, but he doesn’t want to push to something Blaine isn’t comfortable sharing. He decides it can wait for a later time. “I don’t want you to stop letting me help you.”

“I know. I don’t want that either. But it’s destructive, asking you for help without being willing to change.”

Kurt nods. “That’s fair.”

“I want to just put this behind us. Can we do that?”

Kurt gazes at him, at this boy he loves so wholly, and thinks about how terrible the last few days have been, how much he’s missed Blaine’s laughter and love and everything about him that has slowly started to shine through, the things Kurt adores and can’t get enough of.

And the hurt is sliding away, ebbing and fading into a foundation of gratitude, at being given another chance and more time to love and grow and learn, the persistence and determination to treat each other that much better, to work that much harder at this thing between them.

“I want nothing more.” Kurt smiles, and Blaine grins into the kiss they share. Kurt pulls back with three kisses to his lips in slow succession. “I’ll help you always, and I’ll give you the space when you need it. Whatever you need. Just promise you’ll talk to me, okay? Don’t push me away and don’t cover yourself up because you think I can’t handle it when you’re hurting. I’m not going to break.”

“Well that’s for damn sure,” Blaine laughs quietly. “You’re a force to be reckoned with, Hummel.”

“And you,” Kurt responds, poking at his chest lightly. “Are so much kinder and loving than you give yourself credit for.”

The way Blaine blushes bashfully makes Kurt’s heart race, dancing and proud.

“Have I told you that I love you?” Blaine whispers at him and Kurt twines their bare legs together, sweaty and warm and so wonderful.

“Only about a million times,” he grins. “But nobody's stopping you from saying it again.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

And then Kurt lays his tired head down on Blaine’s chest, the slow rising rhythm rocking him to sleep as he laces their fingers together and feels more peaceful than he has in days.

.........

Over the next few days, they talk more about the days spent apart.

They’re situated in the back corner of the Lima Bean one day after Kurt’s finished with school, sitting not too close but near enough that Kurt can feel the wander of Blaine’s foot on his calf, when Kurt tells Blaine about the gift he bought him for his birthday.

Blaine grabs his hand underneath the table.

“You bought me a bracelet?”

Kurt nods, swallowing down his coffee and his embarrassment. “It was really beautiful, too. Braided leather and a topaz charm that reminded me of your eyes.” Blaine’s eyes soften as Kurt speaks, and Kurt ducks his head, cheeks heating red. “But I… I threw it. Out the window of my car. In this parking lot actually.”

“Well, let’s go look for it.” Blaine gives his hand a squeeze.

“Now?”

“Mhm.” Blaine rises from the table, grabbing Kurt’s coat from the back of his chair and holding it open for him. “It might still be there and I don’t want your money going to waste.”

“We’re not going to find it,” Kurt sighs, but even so, he stands and slips his arms into his coat, reeling at the way Blaine’s hands slide warm up his shoulders. 

“Well, then it’s an excuse for us to take a walk.” Blaine puts on his own coat, wrapping his red scarf around his neck. “And I can stare at the way your cheeks get adorably pink in the cold.”

Kurt doesn’t even need assistance from the weather with the rate his cheeks fluster around Blaine and his ridiculous charm. He rolls his eyes playfully. “Should’ve known you had ulterior motives.”

“Most of the things I do for you have them, love.”

Kurt wishes desperately that he could lean over and kiss Blaine’s cheek, and he would if not for the fact that they’re standing in the public atmosphere of the Lima Bean. Blaine’s pet names are growing increasingly more frequent, to the point that Kurt is worried he’s going to accidentally say one in front of their parents, and each one positively shouldn’t make Kurt’s knees weak like they do.

Blaine gives him a flirtatious wink before walking out, and Kurt has to pull a lip between his teeth to bite back his smile as he follows him.

Apart from being extremely frustrating, there’s something admittedly fun about being together in secret, about the way Blaine teases him with glances and touches and comments that make Kurt burn bright red, and every interaction between them fuels the desire that lingers until they can finally be somewhere together, alone and uninhibited, usually in one of their bedrooms at night, and the release is explosive, desperate kisses and wandering hands and hours of getting lost in each other.

The parking lot is slick with fallen snow as they wander through it, and for as much as Kurt’s skin reacts to the chill, the tip of Blaine’s nose becomes so rosy and flushed that it’s incredibly endearing.

“We were parked over here, right?” Blaine asks, gesturing to the corner of the lot, and Kurt’s about to respond when a loud, startling, blaring car horn sounds violently through the air.

They whip around at the same instant, and Kurt’s stomach sinks so fast he thinks he’s about to throw up his coffee when he sees Dave Karofsky hanging out the window of a truck, his posse of meathead jocks littering the bed and cabin, all shooting him menacing smiles of cruel laughter.

“Hey, Faggot!”

There’s a chorus of hollers and whooping cheers, a rapid chime of the horn being sounded repeatedly and so many slurs shouted at the same instant that Kurt’s head spins, the world fuzzing around him.

Suddenly, something whizzes at him, fast and hurling and growing large in his vision, and Blaine jerks him roughly out of the way, pulling Kurt with a firm yank that has him stumbling straight into his chest.

“What the _hell_?”

Kurt barely has time to turn his head back around and watch the projectile ball of ice shatter across the pavement, right where he was standing seconds ago, before Blaine is tugging his hand and urging him to move and his legs are kicked into motion he’s not even controlling.

He runs quickly, holding tight to Blaine’s hand, the taunting jeers a ridiculing, vicious cacophony of sound that continues to barrel after them, the screech of roaring tires against pavement and another crash of solid, bursting ice, this time landing right at the tail of Kurt’s feet and showering up onto his back and neck in painfully cold, pricking shards.

“Yeah, run you little pussy ass bitch!” Somebody yells, and then they’re finally at Blaine’s truck. Kurt pulls open the passenger door and clambers inside, slamming it behind him and gasping for air as Blaine stumbles into the driver's seat and slams his key into the ignition.

“Blaine,” Kurt pants out as Blaine sets one hand on the back of Kurt’s seat and spins around, backing out of his parking spot so quickly Kurt’s hands flail out and grab the dashboard to keep him from flying. “Blaine, what are you doing?”

“Going after those fucking assholes,” Blaine growls, fuming as he jams the gearshift forward and turns the wheel.

“Blaine, honey, stop,” Kurt wheezes, out of breath and entirely disoriented. There’s ice melting freezing cold down the neckline of his coat and his legs burn like hot iron from running on the icy asphalt at such a hurried speed while trying not to fall. He steadies a hand on Blaine’s shoulder. “Stop, please. They’re not worth it.”

He can hear the engine revving of Dave’s truck as it skids away, and he knows that even if Blaine caught up to their truck without breaking the law or driving unsafely, there’s nothing that either of them could do against the handful of brawny boys that wouldn’t result in someone getting hurt.

Particularly, him or Blaine.

“Please Blaine,” Kurt says again, softer and more pleading this time, and Blaine slows down, adrenaline draining and muscles relaxing and he sinks back into his chair and eases his foot off the gas. Kurt falls back into his seat, chest heaving as the sparking rush of events winds out of him, exhausting and depleting.

Blaine’s hands clench and unfurl around the steering wheel, and though he slows the car down, his jaw stays clenched tight and his eyes stay glued to the road. A silence settles into the car that makes Kurt squirmy.

Kurt can tell he’s upset-- at what exactly, Kurt’s not entirely sure, but he lets him drive in silence for a while, turning onto random streets until they’ve wound up near the edge of Lima, on a random back road that’s adjacent to a wide open field, white and lush with miles of fallen snow in thick banks and framed with barren, wiry trees.

“Are you alright?” Kurt breaches finally.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

“Blaine.”

“I’m sorry,” he breathes out slowly. He pulls the car off to the side of the road and puts it in park, before leaning forward against the steering wheel and bursting into abrupt tears. Kurt stares at him in bewilderment, concern overtaking his body like a glove fit snug and tight on his heart.

“Blaine, what is it?”

“I’m sorry,” he sobs, loud and shaking and hunched over. Kurt leans over the center console and rubs a hand down his back, hooking the fingers on his other hand around Blaine’s elbow and pulling his arm into his lap, where he twines their palms together.

“I’m right here,” Kurt coos, stroking his forearm gently and carefully. He’s confused and a little worried at Blaine’s outburst, but he sits still and patient and gives him time as he caresses his skin and Blaine cries, tears slipping in droplets down his cheeks. “I’m right here, Blaine. They didn’t get me.”

“I’m just so tired of being Gay,” Blaine finally musters out, sniffling and trembling and Kurt’s heart cracks apart in his chest at the frayed sound of his voice. “Aren’t you?”

Kurt closes his eyes and swallows heavily. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

“I’m tired of watching you get harassed,” Blaine sighs, voice watery and shoulders deflating, small and dejected. “I’m tired of living in a world where people like us are targeted and constantly in fear. Tired of thinking things are going to change just to realize they never will.”

“I know,” Kurt nods, and he does, has spent every waking moment of his teenage years being _tired_ of the world around him and the bigotry, the senseless hate and the pointless prejudice, and to see that manifested so clearly on Blaine’s face, the exhaustion and the despair and the weariness, it pulls on his heart in such a fine way, places a scream of unjust in his chest so unrestrained it begs to rip it’s way out of his throat.

“But you know what?” Kurt leans forward, combing a hand through Blaine’s corkscrew curls. The weight of their angel fine softness in his fingers is a comfort and a pleasure and a rush of affection so intense it makes his heart stumble.

“What?” Blaine side eyes him, head tipped against the cracked leather of his steering wheel and cheeks stained thick with tear tracks, face half hopeful and half despairing, and all of it so, so beautiful.

“The fight is worth it. I’m not ashamed of that part of myself. Never will be. It’s made me different and that’s the best thing about me. And it’s given me you-- given me love that is safe and secure and wonderful. And that’s a million times more purposeful and significant than anything they’ll ever have in their lives, don’t you think?”

“How are you always so optimistic?” Blaine blinks at him, plump lips in a soft pout, hazel eyes wide and exposed. “Don’t you ever just want to make them pay?”

Kurt snorts lightly. “Honey, I have no shortage of surplus rage, trust me. I don’t know… I just couldn’t live with myself if I lowered to their standards. Played dirty the way they do.”

“I’m not like that,” Blaine shakes his head, swallowing a cry and exhaling loudly. “I don’t know how to find that strength.”

Kurt opens his door and hops down from the truck, circling around the hood and pulling the handle to open Blaine’s door. He holds out his hand.

“Come here.”

Blaine takes his hand, warm fingers sliding together as their knuckles connect like clogs on the framework of a clock, and Kurt helps him step down till their standing face to face on the side of the road, frost exhaling in tufts between their lips.

Kurt raises a hand gingerly to wipe away Blaine’s tears, trickling down his thumbs and absorbing sweetly into his skin. Blaine turns his head, eyes closed and lashes fanning lovely and soot dark, and kisses into his palm with wet, soft lips.

He kisses Blaine just once, just a simple press of fitting lips, slotting together as if they’ve always meant to be that way, a slight tug and a catch on Blaine’s plump bottom lip as he pulls back, a hitch in Blaine’s breathing and a reverent glow in his eyes. Then Kurt leans through Blaine’s open door into the cabin of the truck and switches on the dial to the radio.

“What are you doing?”

“We, Blaine Anderson,” Kurt grins, twisting the dial through static and clips of music until he finds a slow, classical station playing a swirl of beautiful, tender, orchestral music, a high pulling flowing violin and a crescendo of the accompanying piano. He turns back to Blaine. “We are going to dance.”

He takes Blaine’s arms by the bend of his elbows and slides them low around his waist, holding him from both sides and crossing behind his back as he loops his own arms around Blaine’s neck and draws their bodies close together.

Blaine immediately begins to sway them slowly to the music, pressing their cheeks together and nuzzling into Kurt’s hair. His hands grip tight around Kurt’s hips, holding him securely as they move slowly, unhurriedly, to the soft melody flowing from the radio, whirling into the crisp, wintry air around them.

Kurt slides his arms further around Blaine’s neck, sweeping down his back and tucking his chin over Blaine’s shoulder till they're locked in an embrace and Blaine’s breathing hot in tickling puffs of air against the side of his neck.

He can’t fix everything, can’t erase their pain or change the normalcy of the world around them, but he can do this much; can take Blaine into his arms and hold him close, rock them back and forth in small circles and let that magnetic pull of attraction and love that pulses between them become a refuge, a place to replenish and recharge in the face of anguish and distress. 

They slow dance for the entirety of two, slow movements of music in complete silence, nothing but the stillness of cold air and the close heat of Blaine’s body and the crackling radio breaking through in scratchy sound waves. He gazes out at the wide field of endless blanket snow, icy potholed gravel beneath his moving feet, then closes his eyes and inhales the smell of Blaine and lavender and firewood and winter snow deeply. 

It’s so perfect Kurt could weep. He wouldn’t trade any amount of anything to be anyone else in this moment, to be any other place besides the middle of this random road in a backwards town in conservative, freezing cold and desolate Ohio.

Because here he has Blaine.

When the music breaks into commercials, Blaine kisses soft under his ear and Kurt’s toes curl in his boots. Then he steps back, puts a few inches between their bodies, lifts Kurt’s arm above his head, and twirls him.

Giggling, Kurt spins willingly, then shrieks in surprise when Blaine dips him backwards.

“Blaine!” He squeals, grappling for purchase on Blaine’s shoulders, and Blaine laughs loud and clear, beautiful and chiming in the still air. “I’m going to fall and break my ass!”

“That would be such a shame,” Blaine drawls above him, arms secure around his back and Kurt knows Blaine would never really let him fall, even though his hands on Kurt’s body make him feel like he could fall forever, tumble further and further and never resurface. “You do have a magnificent ass.”

The sky is gunmetal gray behind Blaine’s head, setting dark and cold even though the afternoon is still relatively early, and yet Kurt’s never gazed up upon a more beautiful sight; every array of a vibrant setting sunset and vivid sky painted in Blaine’s shining amber eyes, his slightly crooked row of teeth and nose inclined to the right and pink lips Kurt wants to devour.

The laugh that bubbles out of him is so natural and effortless it emanates waves of pure joy through his body. He’ll never get over how _easy_ it is to be with Blaine. He smacks Blaine’s arm in frisky retaliation.

“You’re a grade A pervert, Anderson.”

“Call it what you want. I call it being in love.”

And then Blaine’s leaning down and capturing Kurt’s lips deeply, and Kurt’s laughing into his mouth, overjoyed and overwhelmed and singing down to every last hair standing on end from his body, bent backwards uncomfortably and still surging up to kiss his boyfriend passionately in the freezing cold.

When they get back into Blaine’s truck, Kurt’s never felt safer in his entire life, protected and comfortable and shielded from every horrible thing in the world, every outside care and problem a million miles away from their secluded safe haven.

“Feeling better?” he asks. Blaine takes his hand and kisses each of his knuckles twice as he drives.

“The very best.”

Then he tosses his phone into Kurt’s lap and grins wide. “Play whatever you want.”

And Kurt doesn’t have to ask twice to know what he really means. He scrolls through Blaine’s phone, pulls up exactly what he’s looking for, and hooks it into the aux cord.

“Wicked it is.”

And Blaine erupts in laughter, the sound of which breaks Kurt’s lips into an impossibly wide smile, one he doesn’t even bother trying to hide.

“Kurt Hummel, where have you been all of my life?”

Kurt answers with a wiggle of his eyebrows and an immediate burst into song, which Blaine joins in on quickly, and they drive home together exactly like that, hand in hand and belting to Wicked.

……..

It’s during the last week of school before Thanksgiving break that Puck approaches Kurt at his locker and says emphatically, “Dude, we should hang out.”

“If by hang out you mean ‘try to trick me into watching straight porn with you’” Kurt bounces his fingers in over exaggerated air quotes and glares at Puck. “No, we are _not_ doing that again.”

“Jesus Kurtie, that was _one_ time! When are you going to let that go?”

“When you stop calling me Kurtie,” Kurt sighs, setting his book into his locker and trying to hide the way he wants to smile at Puck’s nickname for him that is undoubtedly annoying but also surprisingly endearing.

“Never gonna happen,” Puck replies with a pop of his tongue. “But come on, we haven’t hung out in _forever_ and I need someone to play video games with. Sam sucks ass.”

Kurt gives him a distasteful look. “Make me more uninterested. I _dare_ you.”

He loves Puck, he really does, and Puck’s right-- it’s been quite a long time since they last hung out (Kurt usually chooses to hang out with Mercedes over Puck since they tend to have more similar interests and Kurt can never seem to stay out of trouble when he does things with Puck), but not a single part of him wants to spend an afternoon playing video games with him. He’s about to wave him off and head to class when a thought occurs to him.

“I know someone who will play with you.”

“Who?” Puck perks up in interest.

“My boyfriend.”

Puck quirks an eyebrow. “Blaine likes video games?”

Kurt bites his lip. He actually has no idea. But Blaine likes football, and he figures that’s close enough. Right?

“Yeah, I think so. You can come over after school if you want and see if he’s any good. I’ll read a magazine and pretend not to judge you.”

Puck _actually_ fist pumps the air.

“Well, call it a date porcelain and consider me there.”

…….

Blaine, as it turns out, actually loves video games, which makes Kurt roll his eyes fondly and wonder how on earth he ended up with someone who manages to enjoy two of the things he dislikes most.

He’s also thrilled to meet Puck again, and it makes Kurt unexpectedly happy, watching his boyfriend and his best friend fight over the bowl of chips Kurt gets out for them and yell at each other to “cover me” or whatever it is they’re saying that Kurt doesn’t understand.

Kurt sits on the opposite end of the couch after making the mistake of trying to sit next to Blaine and getting elbowed in the arm on a particularly excited thrust of his controller. He watches them affectionately over the top of his magazine and sticks out his tongue when Blaine catches him staring and winks at him.

“Kurt didn’t tell me you were _this_ good, Blaine,” Puck comments through a mouthful of unchewed chips without taking his eyes off the screen, which makes Kurt scrunch his nose.

“Yeah, well, you learn a thing or two in college,” Blaine replies, tongue stuck between his lips in concentration and hands jerking forcefully. Kurt squints at the TV and tries to figure out what it is that has him moving so _aggressively_. He’s shooting at something…?

“Kurt will never play with me-- oh, _shit_ , get that, dude!”

“Has Kurt ever tried?”

“Uh, hello? Why are we talking about Kurt like he isn’t presently in the room and listening to everything you’re saying?” Kurt huffs indignantly, and Blaine grins wide, eyes stuck on the TV. “And also, no, he hasn’t. And he has absolutely zero desire to.”

Blaine doesn’t say anything for a while after that other than grunts or comments in Puck’s direction, and Puck starts cussing out the TV at one point, so Kurt actually begins reading his magazine and is lost in the glossy pages until he realizes they’ve reached the end of a level or round or seriously _whatever_ , and Blaine is scooting toward him.

“What are you doing?” Kurt asks skeptically, as Blaine slowly pulls the magazine out of his hand and replaces it with a controller.

“I want you to try.”

“No, Blaine,” Kurt whines, but finds all his resistance shattering when Blaine slides his arms around him from behind and shows him how to hold it.

“I’m almost one thousand percent sure this demonstration isn’t necessary,” Kurt remarks dryly, shivering a little when Blaine kisses the side of his neck and runs his hands down Kurt’s arms, positioning Kurt’s hands around the controller.

“You guys are disgusting.” Puck shoves a handful of chips into his mouth before snapping his fingers and pointing at them. “But also, cute.”

Kurt rolls his eyes, and tweaks his neck back to look at Blaine. “What do I do?”

“Press this to run.” Blaine pushes his thumb forward over a joystick, then proceeds to push his fingers down on various other buttons. “This is to jump, this one to duck, and this one to shoot.”

His breath is so close, ghosting against Kurt’s cheek, and he’s so warm around Kurt’s back and smelling like heaven that Kurt can’t be blamed for the way he leans back into his chest and catches Blaine’s lips sideways in a slow kiss, body humming even though Blaine’s lips taste like Doritos. 

“Yo, I am still here!” Puck calls, and Blaine breaks into laughter against Kurt’s mouth. Kurt smiles and kisses him one last time, lazy and slow and pulling, purring like a content kitten.

“Do you hear something?” he drawls, gazing up at Blaine. Puck sends a pillow flying in their direction, whacking them both in the face.

“Okay, okay,” Blaine chuckles, pulling back and settling between him and Puck. “Sorry, Puckster.”

Kurt pretends to gag while Puck throws a hand into the air. “See, Kurt? He’s into the nicknames.”

Blaine raises a quizzical eyebrow at him, but Kurt just rolls his eyes. “Don’t even ask.”

He’s player two apparently, or so Puck tells him, and when the screen starts moving and Puck’s avatar starts running, he figures he’s supposed to do something.

“What the hell am I supposed to do?”

“Cover me!” Puck yells, as if that’s a completely sufficient explanation.

“I don’t know what that means!”

“Just start hitting buttons,” Blaine says from behind a knuckle, one he’s biting between his teeth to obviously stifle his laughter.

“I hate you, Anderson,” Kurt mutters grumpily, before he starts smashing every key in a completely undignified and horrendous manner.

There’s lots of explosions happening that Kurt doesn’t follow, and the controller keeps vibrating in his hands (which he thinks means he’s getting hit?), but he keeps hammering away at the shoot button until everything in his path is decimated.

He’s just about to admit that this is kind of fun and oddly satisfying when the menu screen pops up and the round or level (or seriously, _what fucking ever_ ) is clearly over.

Kurt looks over at the other two boys to find them gaping, mouths dropped open and eyes owlish.

“What did I do?”

“You fucking _asshole_ ,” Puck gasps and Kurt shrinks back, setting the controller down.

“I’m sorry, I was just hitting buttons like Blaine sa--”

“You beat my high score.” Puck’s voice is utterly astonished, entirely disbelieving, and Kurt’s eyes glance nervously over to Blaine, who is full on _gawking_ at him, looking like Kurt himself has hung the moon and stars.

“I- I did?”

“Hummel, that was… that was fucking amazing!” Puck announces in a way that can be described as nothing other than sheer celebration, and Kurt relaxes, sinks back into the couch with a self satisfied smile and a blush.

He shrugs bashfully, blooming like a goddamn flower under the approval in Puck’s voice and the way Blaine is still just _staring_ , like he cannot believe Kurt is a real thing in front of him.

“Well, um, carry on.” He hands the controller back to Blaine and picks up his abandoned magazine, and it only takes a few more seconds for Blaine to snap back into reality and few grumbles from Puck about how he doesn’t want Blaine as his partner anymore, before the boys are back at it intently for another good half hour.

When Puck leaves however, it becomes very apparent that Blaine’s excitement has not been forgotten and hardly diminished; as soon as Kurt shuts the front door behind Puck, Blaine has a finger hooked in his belt loop and is dragging him back into the living room.

“You have _no_ idea how much you turn me on, Kurt. _Jesus_.”

He’s expecting them to crash onto the couch, but they hardly make it around the corner and into the living room before he’s being pinned up against the wall, Blaine kissing at him dirty and deep and hard.

Kurt’s body goes from slightly riled up as he has been for the last few hours with the close proximity of Blaine’s body, to full on _aching_ with arousal in nearly three seconds flat.

He moans loud and heavy into Blaine’s mouth as Blaine pushes him further into the unrelenting wall, slotting a hard, solid thigh between Kurt’s legs and licking hot and fast into his mouth.

Kurt runs his hands through Blaine’s hair, feels his heart racing and his pulse pounding as Blaine sucks roughly down his throat.

God, his body feels _electric_.

“Mmm, who knew you were such a frat boy,” he teases breathily, panting and arching and gasping when Blaine bites into his neck, tugging on Blaine’s curls in response and feeling the resulting moan vibrate from Blaine’s lip straight up every sensitive nerve in his body.

“You don’t even have to try, Kurt, you just--”

“Blaine,” Kurt moans, faintly aware of the way his knees are about to buckle and keenly aware of the searing sweep of Blaine’s wet tongue along his Adam's apple. “We shouldn’t… not in here…”

“No one is home, baby.” Blaine mouths at his throat and Kurt’s head tips back, barring more of his skin for Blaine’s tongue and Blaine’s mouth and Blaine’s heat and Blaine, Blaine, Blaine, burning up from the inside out.

Kurt wants to argue his point that this behavior is a little riskier than they usually push further, but his body literally feels incapable, like he’s being driven down a primal, instinctive, linear path that ascends towards Blaine and more and god, just _more_.

“Wanted to climb you like a tree, watching you blow us both out of the fucking water,” Blaine whispers into the shell of his ear, hips thrusting and bodies rolling together and Kurt’s not sure what’s working more for him right now, Blaine kissing over his body in hot, sucking marks, or the words of pure desire pouring out of his mouth, igniting Kurt into flames.

“You should’ve,” he murmurs, fingernails clawing down Blaine’s back. “Puck probably would’ve-- _mmm, oh_ \-- enjoyed the show.”

“Mmm, you have a voyeuristic streak I don’t know about?”

Hot, everything is so hot and surging and raging, and Kurt wants to rip every piece of clothing on both of their bodies off and bend over for Blaine right then and there, right up against the wall begging and limber, and just let Blaine have his way with him.

And God, those thoughts make Kurt burn scarlet.

Blaine sucks on his earlobe and Kurt’s whole body stutters. “Maybe we’ll just have to stick around and find out,” he gasps, body writhing. “Considering one of our parents is bound to come home soon and there’s not a chance in _hell_ we’re stopping this.”

Kurt, of course, is speaking with his dick instead of his brain, because it’s precisely in that moment that they both hear the unlatching of the front door, and a spike of cold panic shoots up Kurt’s spine so intensely and polarizingly opposite of the hot arousal coursing through him that his entire body feels split in two adrift sensations.

Blaine springs off of him in a flash, diving for the couch and pulling a pillow over his lap, and then he throws Kurt his magazine. Kurt stumbles to catch it before hastily sitting down at the table, legs crossed and foot bouncing as he flips open to a random page and pretends to read.

“Hey, boys,” Burt huffs, entering the room and hooking his bag up on the far wall.

“Hi, Dad,” Kurt replies, and God, he really should’ve cleared his throat before he spoke because his voice comes out high pitched and squeaking and he can _feel_ the hot spill of blood coloring his cheeks.

“Burt,” Blaine acknowledges at the exact same time, and his voice is the exact opposite of Kurt’s, scratchy and rough and an octave lower than his normal register. Kurt doesn’t dare look over at him but he imagines that the sight of Blaine just sitting on the couch with nothing in front of him, a pillow across his lap and his hair (oh, _God_ , his hair-- Kurt _pulled_ ) disheveled, probably isn’t the most unsuspecting look they could’ve gone for.

Kurt keeps his eyes glued to his magazine, foot shaking harder.

“Uh… What’cha kids up to?”

Kurt can hear the dubious tone of his Dad’s voice, can see him in his peripheral vision stalled and scrutinizing them, moving very cautiously as he takes off his hat and wipes at his forehead.

“Reading,” Kurt tries to hum casually, which is shot to hell when his voice wobbles and his cheeks burn so hot he’s not certain there’s blood left anywhere else in his body.

And Blaine, his poor Blaine, stutters at least ten times before coming up with a response. “I was… um, I-I-- I was just, you know, going to see what’s on TV.”

Kurt doesn’t look anywhere but his magazine, can feel his Dad’s gaze boring into the back of his neck.

There’s a long, tense silence before his Dad says, “Right. Well, remote’s over there, Blaine. You might find that helpful.”

“Thank you, sir,” Blaine replies quickly, and Kurt nearly slams his head against the table because if his Dad needed any help figuring out what they were just doing, Blaine’s sudden formalness would certainly do the trick.

“And Kurt?”

“Yes, Dad?”

“Your magazine is upside down.”

Damn. Indeed it is.

Kurt doesn’t even attempt to come up with a response, just flips the magazine right side up and holds his breath.

His Dad stands there for another few, extremely lengthy moments, before turning. “I’ll be upstairs if you boys need me.”

Kurt nods tersely and he hears Blaine hum affirmatively.

Once they’re alone, it takes a good fifteen minutes before either of them move or even look at each other. When Kurt finally glances over at Blaine, he’s fiddling with a hangnail and looking shameful.

Kurt sighs, stands from the table and walks over to where Blaine’s sitting on the couch. He bends down and drops a kiss on Blaine’s cheek, smooth stubble brushing under his lips.

“I’m the bad liar?” he teases in a quiet voice. Blaine catches his chin between his thumb and pointer finger before he can pull too far away, and kisses him softly on the lips.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pushed it that far.”

“Hey, don’t feel bad.” Kurt shakes his head, resigning to the realization that everything between them has probably just been caught. “I mean… I think we both knew it was only a matter of time.”

“He didn’t say anything,” Blaine points out, looking somewhat hopeful. Kurt raises an amused eyebrow.

“My magazine was upside down, Blaine. Upside. Down.”

Blaine gives an acquiescing sigh.

“I still love you, though,” Kurt hums, and it’s worth it just to see the way Blaine’s smile beams slowly, a burgeoning sun peeking through clouds.

“I love you, too.”

……..

Surprisingly, his Dad never says anything to him.

In fact, it’s not until Thanksgiving day that somebody does.

It completely blindsides Kurt when it happens.

He and Pam have made the kitchen their domain, dancing around each other in a flurry of roasted turkey and sweet desserts, cornbread stuffing and garlic potatoes and Kurt’s favorite cheesy cabbage gratin. They’ve already had to ban both his Dad and Blaine from the kitchen after they tried to finger pick at the chopped ingredients.

He’s washing sweet potatoes at the sink and watching Blaine and his Dad out the window overlooking the backyard. They’re bundled in heavy winter gear, thick parkas and sturdy boots and the most adorable Eskimo hood around Blaine’s head, as they shovel snow off the side driveway, the one that extends back to their shed.

Pam slides up next to him to wash dressing off of her hands, and Kurt’s attention is drawn back to the water that’s been flowing for at least three minutes without him noticing, even though the sweet potatoes have finished their cleansing.

It’s a weird kind of experience, one of those moments that’s almost out of body, where Kurt just already knows that he’s been caught staring and Pam’s going to acknowledge it, where the course of their conversation is practically already laid out in front of him even though nothing’s been said.

“They’re cute aren’t they?” Pam hums, looking where Kurt’s gazing.

Kurt nods. He doesn’t trust his voice.

“Do you love him?”

Kurt picks up a sweet potato he’s already rinsed to steady his fidgeting hands. He tries for nonchalance first.

“My Dad? Of course.”

Kurt’s grateful that Pam doesn’t scoff, or dismiss his deflection immediately, even though they both know what Pam is really asking, and the emotions Kurt’s diverted answer indicates towards. She dries her hands patiently, waits a few minutes before leaning back against the counter.

“Blaine.” Is all she says.

Kurt knows his feigned innocence is useless beyond this point. He shuts off the water he’s wasting and keeps his gaze watching Blaine’s figure. He could no more deny the truth than he could his own name. It just isn’t a feasible option.

“Yes,” he answers, feels it reverberate down to the tips of his wool covered toes and through every inch of his body.

“Does he know that?”

“He loves me, too.”

It’s a sweet sensation, a body filling warmth and proud admiration for the pair of them together, the love he feels for Blaine and the love he receives so freely in return.

Pam nods. “I see. And you two are…?”

“Dating?” Kurt supplies.

“Sexually active, is actually what I was going to ask,” Pam replies, and Kurt knows precisely where Blaine gets his shamelessness. He thinks he could light the whole turkey on fire if he simply pressed the heat of his blushing skin against it.

“Oh, um. Well… uh… I-I… yeah. Yeah we are.” He wants to note that it’s only been three times, and hardly anywhere near full on… _fornicating_ , but those details don’t exactly seem appropriate and they’re probably unwarranted in Pam’s regard.

“Are you safe?”

Kurt nods, blush darkening.

“So, can I ask then, why the secrecy?” Her gaze isn’t anything but kind and compassionate and it’s not the first time that Kurt understands it, that core need for a nurturing presence in his life, someone who gets under his complexities emotionally, someone to lean against in ways his amazing father, though he tries his hardest, just doesn’t possess.

“It didn’t start… here,” Kurt answers carefully, staring at his hands. “I… I met him before our families came together like this.”

Pam furrows her eyebrows. Kurt lets his silence speak for itself, answer the question unspoken but heard all the same. Pam’s eyes widen.

“Oh, Kurt, sweetie, what were you doing in a place like that?”

“A friend took me, for my birthday. I didn’t want to go, not really, and we were just about to leave when I saw him, and, well…”

Pam studies him intently. “Kurt, how do you… I mean, how do you know this isn’t just… desire speaking? Attraction? I’m not trying to sell my son short, but he’s paid to perform. It’s his job to arouse the people viewing him.”

Kurt shakes his head, feels an unexpected flare of anger and defense at those assumptions. “No. It’s not… I mean I think it was at first? I was attracted to him for obvious reasons, but he was also attracted to me. He sought me out, through the crowd, pulled me toward him like there was nobody else there, like it was just the two of us.”

Pam listens, says nothing.

“It was over so fast. I never, ever thought I would see him again. But then… he showed up here, with you, and I instantly knew it was him.” He gestures his hands toward the window. “And he… he remembered me. He recognized me, too. And I was terrified. Of him. Of my feelings. And then we spent that week together, while you and Dad were in New York, and I just…” He’s not quite sure why he feels close to bursting into tears, but Blaine just makes him feel so _much_.

“I fell in love with him. Every part of him, inside and out. He’s a beautiful person in so many ways he doesn’t even realize.”

When he looks over at Pam, she’s trying to discreetly wipe a tear away with the back of her wrist.

“Pam?”

“I’m sorry,” she chokes. “I love him more than anything and it… our relationship is so strained. He never comes to me, hardly talks to me about anything really, and I know that most of it is my fault, but… I’m just so glad to know he has someone he can turn to.”

“Oh, Pam,” Kurt breathes, heart aching. “He loves you. He does. I know he does-- he’s told me so. He just needs time.”

“Has he told you?” She looks up at him intently. “Has he told you why he left NYADA? What happened to him?”

Kurt bites his lip. He can see how genuinely heart broken Pam is, how much she misses her son, but he would never forgive himself if he betrayed Blaine’s trust.

“With all due respect, that’s Blaine’s story to tell. Not mine.”

Pam wipes away another tear and nods rapidly, as if coming to her senses. “No, no, of course not. I’m sorry. I’m just happy to know he’s told somebody.”

Kurt’s silent, contemplating whether or not he should go give Pam a hug when she seems to gain composure again.

“So, that still doesn’t explain the secrecy.”

“That… that was my request, not Blaine’s.” Kurt closes his eyes. “I didn’t want to get in the way of my Dad’s happiness. I knew that if he knew, he would stop seeing you and I didn’t want that. I didn’t want to ruin your relationship.”

“I won’t say that it doesn’t… complicate things,” Pam nods. “But I don’t think that’s necessarily what would happen if he knew.”

“I think he does know,” Kurt chuckles self consciously. “He almost walked in on me and Blaine having a pretty… um, heated, make out session the other day.”

Pam snorts knowingly. “Well. He hasn’t said anything to me about it.”

“How’d you know?”

“I’ve suspected for a while,” she admits. “Though I didn’t… I didn’t realize it was this serious or that it’s been going on for this long. But I’ve noticed the way he looks at you, like you’re the most incredible thing he’s ever seen. Once I saw that, I started watching you, and, well…”

Kurt ducks his head bashfully. “Do you think I should tell my Dad?”

“I think the longer you keep hiding, especially under his nose when it sounds like he knows, the worse the consequences are going to be when you finally admit the truth.”

Kurt rubs at his temple. He’s not sure when the goal of their hidden relationship shifted from not ruining his Dad’s happiness to seeing how long they could be together without the restrictions of parental boundaries.

“Do you think he’ll make us break up?”

Pam shakes her head, folding a towel around the rack on the oven door. “He’d be stupid to. Anyone can see how good you two are for each other. And he’s not going to break things off with me either because of it. But there will be rules, I’m sure, and conditions, and we’ll have to figure out how to navigate it as a family.”

The word is still foreign to him, still not quite what he connects the union of the four of them to yet, though it’s getting closer with time. There’s still that missing piece, that missing connection between the close group of people they are now and what their parents are pushing them to be.

And his relationship with Blaine certainly won’t help it get there any faster once it’s out in the light.

“Why hasn’t he just confronted me?”

Pam contemplates. “Well… he might not actually know.”

Kurt picks up a knife and begins mincing onions, cheeks heating up again. “It was bad, Pam. Really bad. My magazine was upside down. Blaine had a pillow over his lap.”

Pam laughs loudly at that, a vivacious, animated sound that Kurt’s found he loves having around the house.

“Then I guess he’s waiting for you to come to him. You are an adult, Kurt.”

Kurt wants to laugh at that. He feels so stupidly young about this whole situation.

“You’re not going to tell him?”

Pam gives him a wink before picking a pinch full of onions off of his cutting board and eating it. “Not my story to tell.”

Kurt shakes his head, smiling. “You are _no_ better than your son with the finger picking.”

“Mmm, don’t tell him.” Pam wiggles her eyebrows. “He already doesn’t listen when I tell him not to do that.”

They laugh together for a few moments and resume their cooking. Kurt’s heart feels lighter, a weight alleviated that he didn’t even realize he was carrying.

Perhaps everything could work out. Perhaps no one has to sacrifice their happiness for anybody else’s sake.

“Pam?” he says bravely after a moment.

“Hmm?”

“Blaine really is a wonderful person, through and through. And… it probably wouldn’t hurt if you reminded him of that every once and awhile.”

It’s bold, and maybe overstepping his boundaries, but also something he feels he needs to say on behalf of the person he loves.

Pam stares at the bowl in her hand for a long moment, before looking up at Kurt and nodding, a wobbly smile on her face and eyes full to the brim of kindness and self awareness.

“I think you’re right, Kurt. Thank you.”

……….

Thanksgiving dinner is wonderful.

The long, full bellied nap Kurt takes while Blaine, Pam, and his Dad watch football, is even more wonderful.

They have a family game night, where Blaine creams them all in Phase 10 and his Dad maintains his status as monopoly champion, and another late dinner of leftovers from their grand meal that still haven’t even really gone cold.

But the best part of his whole day are the very last hours, in the twinkling darkness of midnight when he sneaks up to Blaine’s room and climbs under his warm covers.

Blaine envelops him in his arms, spooning up around Kurt’s back and kissing the hinge of his jaw. Kurt sinks into his weight, into the soft mattress and fuzzy blankets brushing over his skin, the strong arm Blaine settles around his waist. He twines their fingers together over his flat belly.

“Hi, baby,” Blaine murmurs into his ear, making Kurt flutter with warmth, relaxed and sleepy and content. “I had an amazing day today.”

“Mmm,” Kurt purrs. He loves the way Blaine’s pelvis fits snug into the curve of his body, the way he feels held at every angle. “That makes me happy. I did too.”

And then, apropos of nothing, Blaine tells him, “I’ve decided to quit my job.”

“What?” Kurt rolls onto his back, gazing up at Blaine with wide eyes. “You’re serious?”

“Yeah. My last day is Monday,” Blaine smiles, and it's a gentle smile, one that’s a little ashamed but more reborn into something fresh, a little unsure of the way he’s pushing himself to let go and change but so clearly courageous and willing to try that Kurt feels like he’ll burst within himself.

“Oh, Blaine,” he props up on his elbow, cups Blaine’s jaw and leans down to kiss him soundly. He tastes like minty toothpaste and love. “I’m so proud of you. I’m so, so, so very proud of you. You didn’t do this for me though, right?”

“No,” Blaine shakes his head, grazing over Kurt’s cheek with the back of his hand. “No, I did it for me. It’s the first step that I need to take… and I’ve always known but it wasn’t until-- you remember that I told you I talked to your Dad?”

Kurt nods, nuzzling into Blaine’s palm.

“He knew. He knew I was a dancer.”

“What?” Kurt furrows his eyebrows in surprise. “I didn’t tell him, Blaine, I would never--”

“No, sweetheart, I know. My Mom didn’t either. He said he figured it out on his own.”

“Oh, good Lord,” Kurt groans. “He has probably known about us for _so_ much longer than I realized.”

And he realizes then, that he should probably tell Blaine about his conversation with Pam, but it isn’t quite the right time, not with Blaine sharing the details of his talk with Burt.

Blaine chuckles, strokes Kurt’s chin, then grows serious again. “I asked him if he thought differently of me. Because of my job. He said no. He didn’t know what my reasons were but he was sure they were valid. And I don’t know… something about hearing that from a Fatherly figure... the part of me that has been so vacant and wounded realized that it was _okay_ that it all happened. That that became my job, that I went down that path. It’s not where I want to be anymore, but hearing that I was still redeemable… It’s made it okay to move on.”

It stings a little, to hear Blaine realize from somebody else’s words what he’s been trying to show him all along, but it’s overshadowed quickly by how happy he simply is that Blaine has decided to move on. It doesn’t matter who helped him to that point, only that he’s finally there, and Kurt thinks that it’s just a delicate part of Blaine, the part of him that aches from the shun and abandonment of his father, and Kurt just doesn’t quite understand it enough to help him like his Dad could.

“I’m so happy for you,” he whispers, brushing a hand through Blaine’s curls, body fitting into Blaine’s at every curve and crook.

“I truly love you more than you could ever know, Kurt,” Blaine gazes at him, hazel eyes glowing embers in the night. “I wouldn’t be at this point without you.”

“I love you, too,” Kurt smiles, body light as air as he settles back into Blaine’s arms and lets himself be swept away by the heat of Blaine all around him.

There’s something about the dark and the quiet and the serenity of it all that gives him courage, that sets his inner most desires into motion, bubbles them up from within his soul and allows him to speak them freely to the other half of where his heart lies, in the boy holding him so securely.

“Blaine?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m not ready yet, but… I’ve been thinking about it lately.” He tightens his fingers around Blaine’s forearms, steadies himself in his breathing. “A-about you… making love to me. Being inside me. A-and soon… when I’m ready, I want to take that step. With you. I want it to be you.”

Blaine doesn’t freak out, doesn’t freeze or tense or draw away.

He pulls Kurt closer, cradles him near, whispers soft and sweet and sincere, “When you’re ready, sweetheart, it would be an honor to share that with you. I’ll make it so special for you.”

And Kurt knows, as he squeezes Blaine’s hand and closes his eyes, happiness flowing through him like a honey rich bloodstream, as long as he has Blaine near, he has nothing to ever fear.

………

Monday, the last night of Blaine’s job as a stripper and Kurt’s first day back at school after Thanksgiving break, proves to be the worst day Kurt can remember in a very, very long time.

It isn’t during the day, isn’t at school or glee rehearsal or dinner time that anything happens.

Isn’t when Kurt’s moisturizing or crawling into bed, thinking of Blaine coming home to him and never having to leave for that club ever again.

It starts in the early hours of the morning, around two, when Kurt is fast asleep and suddenly awoken by loud, angry yelling.

He’s disoriented for a few seconds, swimming in that space of half consciousness where nothing is quite real and he can’t actually tell if he’s dreaming or not. He hears the yelling again, growing louder and more recognizable and suddenly--

Kurt snaps awake in a flash, scrambling out of bed to throw his robe on and run up the stairs.

It’s Blaine.

When he lands on the main floor, Blaine’s there, hysterically screaming and pointing at Pam, who stands on the stairs leading to the upper floor, hair a tangled mess and eyes wide as she clutches her night shirt.

“You _knew_ ,” Blaine yells, and Kurt stands frozen at the top of the basement stairs, clutching the banister. There’s tears and snot running down Blaine’s face in a steady stream. “You knew he was Gay and you didn’t tell me! You _lied_ to me! Let me think it was my fault, let me despise myself for years!”

Kurt has no fucking idea what’s happening, and he’s starting to get a little scared. Blaine looks so genuinely distraught that Kurt’s worried for a moment he’s going to hurt himself, or throw something, and the words he’s yelling make absolutely no sense.

“Blaine, I’m sorry,” Pam sobs, and that’s when Kurt realizes that she’s crying too, that she understands whatever it is Blaine is talking about, why he’s so upset, and looks like she knows why he’s understandably so. Her eyes are full of regret, crying in waves of remorse and self-reproach.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Blaine cries, loud and angry. “Why didn’t you just tell me? Why did you let me _hate myself! Why did you let me think he hated me_?”

Kurt looks up at the stairs again and sees his Dad, standing behind Pam now.

“Blaine,” his Dad calls, tries to console him.

“She _lied_ to me!” Blaine yells at him. Kurt’s fingers tighten around the wood, fingers gripped white knuckle tight. “She’s a liar!”

“That’s ENOUGH.” Burt suddenly thunders, and everyone goes still. Blaine’s whimpers are quiet and agonizing, tearing at Kurt’s heart. “Blaine, it’s two in the morning. You need to calm down. Lets go to bed and we can talk this out in the morning.”

“No.” Blaine shakes his head, wiping at his nose. “No, I’m leaving. I’m going to a hotel. I can’t sleep here with her.”

Three heads watch in shock as Blaine marches off down the hallway to his room. Kurt stares at his Dad in disbelief.

“Let him go,” Burt says, and he seems to be talking to both Kurt and Pam alike. “He needs time to cool off.”

He wraps his arms around Pam’s shaking shoulders, and all Kurt can think about is how nobody is comforting Blaine, and why is Blaine leaving, and what the _hell_ is going on, and before he can think any further, he’s moving down the hallway towards Blaine’s bedroom, both of their parents watching him as he goes.

When he gets to Blaine’s room he stands in the doorway, watching Blaine pack a duffel bag.

“Blaine?”

Blaine looks up at him, at the quiet, gentle sound of his voice, his shoulder shaking and his lips trembling when he whimpers, “Kurt.”

Kurt walks forward, places a cautious, careful palm on Blaine’s shoulder as if he’s touching a spooked animal, and speaks softly.

“Honey, tell me what’s wrong?”

“He was there, Kurt. My Dad.” Blaine’s voice is angry, bitter and sharp and breaking, and more than anything, utterly betrayed and heart broken. “My Dad who I haven’t seen in eight fucking years was at the strip club. The _gay_ strip club where I work.”

Kurt’s not sure how to process any of what he’s hearing, what to say to Blaine or how to calm him down. It’s like slamming into a brick wall, the unexpectedness and sudden perception of it, and he can only imagine how baffling and shocking this must be for Blaine.

“Marcus wanted me to do one more private show before I quit, before I left forever, and he was in there, waiting for a goddamn disgusting lap dance, my _Dad_.”

Kurt’s eyes fill with tears, hand curling around Blaine’s shoulder. “Blaine, oh my God, I’m so sorry.”

It feels insufficient, hollow and echoing, but there’s no instruction for what to say to this scenario, no way to see his way through this as Blaine continues to gather things into his duffel bag.

“Where are you going to go?”

“I just need to clear my head. Need some space. I’ll stay close, in Lima at the hotel downtown or something, and I won’t be gone long.” He draws Kurt’s hand to his mouth, kisses his knuckles, salty tears staining his lips. “I’ll come back to you I promise, I just can’t stay here, not right now, not knowing that she’s been lying to me, all these years--”

“Hey,” Kurt says softly, tears streaking hot down his own cheeks now. “I get it. Okay? I get it. It’s okay. Just please, please, be safe. For me. Don’t do anything stupid and d-don’t hurt yourself.”

“No, God, Kurt, I won’t, I promise,” Blaine replies, pulling Kurt into a hug and squeezing him tight. Kurt wraps his arms around him and holds on, the feel of Blaine solid and warm and everything he needs.

Everything that’s leaving. Kurt’s chest feels like it’s splintering.

“I love you, okay?” Kurt whispers into his ear, kissing at his skin with sad, heart heavy lips. “I love you. Please remember that.”

“I will. I will.” Blaine pulls back and cups his face with both hands, kisses him deep and slowly and heaving. “I love you, too.”

And then he gives Kurt one last, long, anguished look, kissing his cheek once more softly and swinging his duffel bag around his shoulder before heading out his bedroom door.

And Kurt stands motionless.

It’s only when he hears the front door slam that he collapses to the floor and sobs.

……

He only sends Blaine one text in the following few days.

_**I love you. Take your time.** _

He doesn’t hear back, and he doesn’t send more. He gives him his space and trusts that Blaine will come back to him.

He doesn’t know where he is, doesn’t know if he’s okay, but Blaine promised that he would be safe for him, so Kurt breathes around that promise at night, clutches it tight to his chest and holds on, waits for him to come back.

He will come back.

Four days later, on a Friday afternoon, Kurt’s leaving glee club rehearsal when he spots a group of people hanging around in the direction of his car.

He approaches slowly, but it’s freezing outside, and he just wants to get in his car and drive home, so he walks right up to his car and straight into the throng of David Karosfsky and several other strapping jocks, entering the mass like the prey of a pack of deadly wolves.

He tries to push through and get to his car door, but a strong, meaty hand catches him roughly by the bicep and spins him around.

“Where do you think you’re going, twink?” Dave spits into his face, and Kurt squirms, trying to wriggle out of his grasp.

“Let me go,” he says through gritted teeth. It’s dark enough that he can hardly see, the streetlamps tinting above their head and faint snowflakes cascading in a flurry around them.

When Dave’s grip tightens, Kurt starts to panic. He kicks at Dave’s shin forcefully, eliciting a groan from his lips.

“I said, let me go.”

Suddenly there are faces closing in on him from every angle, all malicious and hostile and ready to pounce.

“Yeah, see I don’t think we’re gonna do that pretty boy,” Dave snarls, and Kurt’s spine crawls, snaps straight to attention as the boys get closer and closer, obscuring his vision and clouding every inch of the dark, angry world around him.

“What?” Kurt bites. “You gonna hit me? Do it. Do it. I’m not afraid of you. I’m proud of who I am, unlike all of you, who are scared to admit that you are just a bunch of nameless _nobodies--_ ”

The first punch to his jaw takes him completely by surprise, a searing pain through his lower face and down his neck, shooting in sparks down his throat and into every receptor down his back. His vision goes fuzzy, his words slur, and he tastes a metallic zing on his tongue.

The second blow comes to the back of his head, and he briefly registers the explosion of pain rippling down his body before the world tips black and his knees give out.

He hits the asphalt and everything stops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 14k words of me remembering how much I love this story. (and I uploaded twice in one week! Miracles do exist!)
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Tell me how you're feeling! I love to hear and this one was big one ;)

**Author's Note:**

> YOU GUYS! I am beyond excited for this AU. This idea came to me a while ago and now that it's summer, I finally have enough time to write it. Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated so I know if anyone is actually interested in me continuing this! I'll try to update weekly, most likely on Sundays. Thank you <3


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